Winter Dreams and Nightmares
"False friendship, like the ivy, decays and ruins the walls it embraces; but true friendship gives new life and animation to the object it supports."
-Richard Burton-
"Nightmares are releases."
-Sylvia Browne—
5 Steps
HIS letter to HER
"Inventing Shadows"
When the blonde woman came into the room and stood before us I knew. I knew that the words that were about to escape her lips were bad. The redness in her eyes, the shaking of her hands gave it away.
My best friend, my secret lover, you were gone... Forever.
I would never be able to look at you, see you smile, or hear you laugh ever again. My heart didn't just break it shattered.
I didn't have the energy to lift my hand and wipe away the falling tears from my burning cheeks.
When I had found you in that dark place dying a part of me fell onto you. I held your hand through the pain. I wanted to tell you I loved you but the time wasn't right. Since I knew you'd live to see the next day I thought I could wait. But I was wrong, terribly wrong.
It's been quite some time now since the last time I saw you. I'm so alone and sad. Everyone else seems to grieve with one another but I keep to myself.
I can sometimes see you when I close my eyes. You're standing in front of me and you're smiling. When I open I still see you there sitting at my desk. We talk and we laugh. I tell you about my day and how much I miss you.
I know the others think I'm slipping into depression and they see me talking to 'you', but I don't care. Talking to you shows me that you never really left this place. This place you once called home.
I visit the place that you rest and I can feel you by my side. All I can think about is how this all happened. You ran to protect us. We ran after you to protect you.
I lay a flower down, a single rose.
I close my eyes again and open them to find you gone.
I sigh only to realize you were a dream. That's all I do, dream.
And I continue inventing shadows.
He jerked awake and quickly looked around. It was four o'clock and still very dark out. He sighed as he got up and walked over to the near by window. There was a light rain that patted against the glistening glass. He remembered how much she loved the rain. She always said, "The rain washes all sin away." He could see the smile on her face now.
He stared out into the outside world and fixed his gaze on the street lamp across the way. Every time he looked out this way he hoped to see her standing under the orange light. He would run out to greet her with open arms, wrap her up tightly and bring her inside. Again he sighed knowing his dream would never come true.
It was Thursday, she died on a Thursday. It was that time of week where he'd visit her grave and replace the rose form the week before.
He couldn't sleep, he never slept. Every time he did he'd be waked with nightmares of her death. Her dying as he held her hand, her asking him to 'let her go'. All she had wanted to do was protect the ones she loved and end the madness. Sixty seconds, if he had only gotten there sixty seconds early she would still be here. Oh how he blamed himself and how it was slowly killing him.
There are five steps of grief. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. And each step took a piece from him, which he'll never get back.
Daily Routine
Step one: Wake up and get dressed.
Step two: Make breakfast and eat it, even if you're not hungry.
Step three: Drive to work.
Step four: Walk into the Bullpen and try to stay calm.
Step five: Ignore the concerned glances.
Step six: Go to your office and shut the door.
Step seven: Pretend you didn't notice her empty desk when you walked in.
Step eight: Make it through the day with or without a case.
Step nine: Go home.
Step ten: Get ready to do it all over again tomorrow.
Thursday Night
He walked into the cemetery with his single rose and letter. Making his way past the many tombstones he finally reached hers. Pulling up one of the stone benches as he always did, he took a moment of silence. "It's me again," he said softly. Reaching down he picked up the wilted rose and gently placed the fresh one in its place. From his pocket he pulled a small wooden box no bigger than a sticky-note. He then placed his letter in the box and tucked it under the flower. "I hope you like it. I wrote it myself. It's called 'Inventing Shadows'" He stood up, put the bench back where it came from and looked back at her name. Her beautiful name, etched in stone, "I miss you."
So this idea just came to me, so let me know what you think, review please! Tnx:)