It's been a long time since she thought about living.
Life has no meaning, not really. It's just a cycle, just a phase that she went through a long time ago. She remembers it, remembers things that were real a long time ago. A sunrise, blue the color of the sky, clouds in pink and gold and light, a sunrise that was the beauty in her life. Stars, lying on a rooftop looking for the real world. Watching people through a curtained window, lights rushing by outside while the whole world stands so still that it's unbelievable that the world is still turning. Brown eyes. A red painted door.
Now, it's silly to think of reality. She spent too much time in reality, looking for it and finding it, working again to try to lose it. What does it matter now? Such things are the province of life. And she is alive no longer.
Heartmindsoul, Trinity.
She's still Trinity, she thinks. Made of threes. Laws that carry into the precincts of death, fabric of the universe that holds her together. Three. trinityneocomplete. Waxing, waning, complete. Complete what? the stars ask in their language of light, but she's not sure she knows. Complete wholeness, complete emptiness, a glass left abandoned on a table until it was overflowing with air.
Maybe she's still here. Her soul is. Blue in the sky and the oceans and the ice and her mind and her eyes. Windows to her soul. And he is, she thinks, she hopes, she knows. She doesn't feel him. But she knows he's there.
For if he's not there, neither is she.
There's not much to remember, really, once you've whispered to the stars and painted the wind. Brown eyes, a red painted door. Candles burning by a bedside, fingers entwined, skin blending together in the candlelight with the solid reality of them. "I'm never letting go."
She wouldn't be complete without him.
He's there, in the stars and the wind and the light, just as she is, flowing alongside her, two parts so integrated that separation is impossible. She doesn't need to reach out and touch him, for he's a part of her very soul.
Neo, new. The beginning of the new life, the new death, the old gone and the flame burnt out. New one lit. The new holy Trinity, the completion of her soul. The completion of her life, death, existance. Her in three parts.
She still exists and so does he and they're not really sure where, but they don't care because they have each other. They're everywhere at once and nowhere at once and they've seen it all, yet there's so much more left for them to see that they have eternity before they'll ever get enough. And they'll never get tired of each other.
You can't get tired of the other part of your soul.
They called it love, once, and she doesn't really think of it as love anymore. It's silly to say i love you when you can't even speak. And why do you need to say something to yourself, anyway? He is her soul and you don't tell yourself "I love you." To love someone, they have to be a seperate person. And they're not.
She doesn't see him.
She doesn't need to see him to know that he's there.