I act, in part, as a means of reminding the people posting crazy romance-induced Beatles fanfics that this is actually for the movie Across the Universe and that if they want Beatles fics then maybe try Livejournal.
The other is because I haven't written in ages and I miss it.
I don't own anything.
So he left.
And he didn't look back, not once.
If he looked back, there was a chance that he would want to return. If he looked back, then maybe he would miss it. But he couldn't miss what he didn't see, so he kept his eyes forward, his mind fixated only on the future and the return to a life that he had hoped to leave behind.
The memories were harder to keep away. They lurked, first at the back of his mind, but creeping closer to the front. They got bold and threw themselves to the front until they thrived behind his eyes and multiplied into millions of events that may or may not have happened.
Fingers through long, blonde hair.
Smoke through lips that were parted only slightly, the corners upturned.
Bottles lining the walls, half-full, catching the light.
Whispered words in his ear. Words of love and promise, and devotion.
In the end all of it was heavily fragmented, detailed to a point where he began to doubt the legitimacy of his time away.
So maybe, just maybe, he looked back.
Just for a second.
And maybe, when he looked back, they hit him like a wave. No longer left to move within the shadows, to split in an effort to exist, they combined until he could see nothing but the illumination of the sun, the brightness of her eyes and heard the soft laughter as she gazed at him from the bed, eyes glassy with alcohol or marijuana, he wasn't sure.
Maybe, when he looked, he wanted to return.
Maybe he wanted to make things right.