Disclaimer; I own nothing. Well, a small dump-truck. But nothing in here.
Learning, loving, somebody don't make them love you.- 'Sitting, Wishing, Waiting', Jack Johnson.
Staying home alone on a Friday, flat on the floor looking back at old loves, or lack thereof.- 'Love Song for No One', John Mayer.
He resists the urge to skip home. That would be completely undignified and he has a perfectly good car. He can't seem to wipe the wide grin off of his face.
He is Loved.
He Loves.
They Love.
He laughs and smiles and dances around the house until his step-brother asks him if he's on drugs.
A year later he still Loves. But he has stopped being Loved in return.
Maybe.
He's not quite sure.
Everything is off-kilter because where there should be LoveHopeCourageWarmth looking at him, there is only a terrible coldness instead.
He keeps his promise- he never says goodbye in so many words.
But the eyes with terrible coldness scream at him Let me go, please, please, Let me go Let me go...
So, he does.
He never sees beyond the terrible cold aching sorrow, never finishes the sentence there.
Let me go, let me go, let me go...
...so that you can be free.
He still Loves.
It is years later now, and he is now certain that he always will Love.
But he is not Loved. They are no longer.
Have not been for a long time. Will never be again.
He and his very-nearly-almost-but-not-quite-yet-step-sister-in-law take their Emerald City by a storm.
He does not smile, save when he is on stage.
He tries to love another.
Falls into a pair of eyes that can Love him and leave him drowning and gasping for air when he looks away.
But he cannot even love them back.
He Loves to much.
The newest they are listening to the radio, singing along, when slow, sad, familier guitar riffs fill the car.
He shuts off the music abruptly.
The other does not ask and they continue in silence.
He still Loves.
He is loved, again.
But they do not Love. Not like what he had before. Never like that.
He still says yes when there is too much HopeShiningPleadingPlease? in the eyes that let him lose himself and a small black box.
He is too afraid of being alone.
He hates himself for that.
He is loved.
He lives.
He thrives.
He is loved.
He does not smile.
One day he writes a letter.
He pours out his heart, his hurt, his achingbreakingangrysorrowful mess onto the paper.
He shreds the letter when he finished.
Still, he Loves, but the pain is dulled ever so slightly.
Years later, he is sitting at his desk when the pain in his heart wells up again.
His heart is pieces and he tries to stop it, tries to hold it together with his bare hands...
He falls out of his chair and hits the ground as his secretary comes running and screaming for help.
'I'm okay, my heart is just breaking again, I'll be fine.' He tries to tell her, but he can't catch his breath, can't breathe can't breathe can't...
The last thing he sees is his secretary's eyes, full of LoveHopeCourageWarmthSorrow.
It's okay, he tries to tell her, let me go, please, please, just let me go...
Her sad smile blurs as his vision fades to black.
He dies with a smile on his face.
fin.
A/N; ...yeah, I dunno either. I have a mirror piece for this, so hopefully that should be up soon. Please let me know what you thought! :)
~.