The Broken clock is a comfort It helps me sleep tonight Maybe it can stop tomorrow From stealing all my time And I am here still waiting Though I still have my doubts I am damaged at best Like you've already figured out
He'd always meant to marry her someday.
He couldn't remember ever feeling this way about a woman before. He'd teased Danny when Danny had first told him about his feelings for Lindsey, but now he understood. At least they had gotten their happy ending. He'd lost her. He could sit around for hours and remember every joke, laugh and smile that passed between them. He could sit down in his apartment and feel her all around him. Sometimes, in the moments before sleep cleared from his head, he heard her say, "Hey, Donnie, wake up." Sometimes, in the dark of night, he would hear her whisper "I love you." He didn't think he'd gone crazy. He was just holding onto her.
I'm falling apart I'm barely breathing With a broken heart That's still beating In the pain There is healing In your name I find meaning So I'm holding on (I'm holdin on)(I'm holdin on) I'm barely holding on to you
Sometimes it was hard to get out of bed. Sometimes it was hard to convince himself that she was really gone. She would feel so real, he felt like he could just reach out and touch her, hold her close again, kiss her again. He would give almost anything to have her back. She was like no other woman alive. She was pure passion, a tender smile, a laugh, she was everything he could ever want. He knew there were great women out there, but they just weren't her.
Being alone was the worst thing for him. He would close his eyes, and when they opened, she would be there in front of him. He needed a distraction, which is why he'd begged his way back onto the force. He saw it in Mac's eyes that he disapproved, but no one could change his mind about this. He needed something, anything, that would take his mind off of her, although nothing succeeded. She was like a ghost, following him around, she was a whisper in the wind, wild and free.
The broken locks were a warning You got inside my head I tried my best to be guarded I'm an open book instead And I still see your reflection Inside of my eyes That are looking for purpose They're still looking for life
He would walk into his lonely apartment, and her coat would still be hanging by the door. Her purse would be exactly where she left it. Her lipstick still uncapped in the bathroom. He meant to give most of it back to her parents, but he needed something to keep for himself, besides the memories that never left his mind. He wandered through the small space. It was like trying to decide which limb he wanted to cut off. Giving anything away would be admitting complete defeat, finally admitting that she wasn't coming back to claim it. Some of her clothes were draped over his bedroom floor. The favourite purple blouse of hers, some new jeans that she hadn't gotten to wear very long before they arrived back at his place. She was everywhere. Even the scent of her perfume lingered in the air.
He would rather that she had broken up with him. Just left him and walked away. At least then she could have a chance at being happy. He might still be wallowing in his own misery, but she would be happy. Life was so unfair. There were people in the world that deserved to die, and only the good ones were being taken. She was as good as they came. She was torn away from life as though it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. There was too much pain in the world already. Why did there have to be more?
I'm falling apart I'm barely breathing With a broken heart That's still beating In the pain (In the pain) Is there healing In your name I find meaning So I'm holding on (I'm still holdin on)(I'm holdin on) (I'm still holdin on) (I'm holdin on) I'm barely holding on to you
He'd put all of her pictures into a box and duct taped it shut. Said box was then banished to an undisturbed corner of the apartment. While he loved her, and just wanted to see her again, it was too painful to look at the stills in which they would be eternally happy, not yet knowing what was to come. It was too hard to stare at her picture, and know that she was never going to look at him that way again. She wasn't going to be able to tell him that she didn't care if chocolate was his favourite kind of ice-cream, Black Raspberry Cheesecake was the best ice-cream in the world. He would never argue with her again.
If he could have just one more day to tell her everything he didn't get to say in their short time together. If he could hold her one last time and say that he loved her, and there would never be another. If he could just hear her say 'I love you' one last time. There were a million or more 'ifs' but all he wanted was a chance to say goodbye. Not to have her ripped away by some accident. If he could have just one more day, he wanted more, but if he could have just one more day with her, then maybe, just maybe, he might be able to find some closure. But he wouldn't get that day.
I'm hanging on another day Just to see what, you will throw my way And I'm hanging on, to the words you say You said that I will, will be okay The broken light on the freeway Left me here alone I may have lost my way now But I haven't forgotten my way home
He was amazed at how little people his personal crisis affected. He would walk to the store, and the store clerk would be just as cheery as ever, talking about plans after college. He would walk down the streets and see fathers playing with their son's, he would see business men barking angrily into cell phones. It made him realize how fickle life truly was, and how everyone moved on. A wonderful cop, and a beautiful woman from the inside out, was gone from this world, and some people didn't even know. Up in Canada, they had probably never even heard her name. They would be wandering around in the snow, pet polar bears dragging along behind them like dogs, and they wouldn't care. They would be making snow angels or whatever.
Over in England, they wouldn't know her name either. They would all be drinking tea, riding bicycles and yelling, "PIP PIP CHEERIO!" to all of their neighbors. They would be reading a newspaper, and playing in yards. They would have their romances and silly spats and . . . And someone in England had probably just lost someone too. In Canada, right now, someone was probably crying for a dead loved one. There was too much pain in the world.
I'm falling apart I'm barely breathing With a broken heart That's still beating In the pain (In the pain) There is healing In your name (In your name)I find meaning So I'm holding on (I'm still holdin')(I'm holdin' on)(I'm still holdin') (I'm holdin' on) (I'm still holdin') Barely holding on to you (I'm still holdin on) Barely holdin on to you
He brushed a tear away. He didn't like to cry, it showed weakness, but he cried nonetheless. He cried for her, for everything that didn't happen, for anyone who had ever lost someone. He cried just to cry. He felt better afterwards. He had always thought that when people said, 'a cry will do you good' they were lying, but it did feel good. He didn't instantly feel better, like all of his pain was gone. He felt like he could start breathing again, letting himself grieve instead of just pushing away the slightest suggestion that she was gone for good.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small green velvet box. Inside was nestled a small diamond ring. He had bought this ring two weeks after their first date. He had intended to ask her a year after they had known each other. He had often thought about it, late at night. He had wondered what he dress would look like, how beautiful she would look draped in white, who her bridesmaids would be. He had to admit, he had even thought about children. About little clones of them. He thought about driving his son to soccer practice, or hockey. Or his daughter to hockey or soccer. He had thought about family outings, picnics, beach trips, sibling fights, moody teenage years. He had wanted all of that, with her and only her. How he missed her. He snapped the box shut.
He had always meant to marry her someday.
I do not own CSI: New York, or the song, which is 'Broken' by Lifehouse. I am canadian, so any sterotypes were on purpose. I know we all don't live in igloos with pet polar bears (which, by the way, some guys from Maine asked my neighbour when she went to a cheerleading camp). And I know that Flack would probably be smart enough to know all of this, but he's in pain. And I probably put in a lot of english sterotypes too. Again, I don't think this, it's just for the story.
~DI4MGZ~