She hates the sun.
The sun shines on, and the sky is a perfect azure, and she hates that because it tells her that the world is not mourning his absence, and that is unacceptable.
The sun tells her to move on and forget, and for that, she hates it.
She likes the night a bit better, but she hates the moon and stars, and wishes from the bottom of her heart that they would all burn out, leaving only darkness.
The moon and stars tell her to move on and forget, and she hates that.
She likes the clouds that hide the moon and stars and make everything a foggy black. She asks them to do this more often, though they rarely listen.
The clouds tell her to sit still and remember.
She is angry that she can't hear anyone else sob in the middle of the night, when she goes to her special rock and buries her face in her arms. It is alright, she supposes, because it would only make her cry more.
Her tears tell her that she is remembering, and will always remember.
She is sitting on the porch, waiting for something she does not know. She waits, and will wait forever if need be.
But that is not the case, and she sees a hooded figure and she knows that this is what she has been waiting for, this is the thing she needs and would wait forever for.
That thing she needs tells her that she no longer needs to remember.
The hood is removed, and there is a flash of gold and peach and a smile, and suddenly she is holding him so tightly.
She is holding him, and it feels right; the sky is crying, and the rain drenches both of them, but she doesn't care, she can't care.
Because he is in her arms, and that is all that matters.
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Drabble #2, also written at 12 AM. I need to go on more drabble sprees.