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Author's Note:
This is the first fic I've posted here, so please review, I'd really appreciate it.Radio
I sit here looking for inspiration but finding none. All I can think about is the music in my ears, the gentle pulse, his soft voice, the chords echoing faintly. The words have gained a meaning they've never had before. Fighting the thoughts and memories is futile, as always. I always try to hold it back, hold it in, but hearing his voice just smashes through the walls and barriers straight to the empty space inside me.
Sometimes I wonder why I listen. I always end up crying and sobbing alone on the kitchen floor and dying inside all over again. Like it's the first hour, the first second and he's left all over again. Through my tears I make useless attempts at convincing myself that he's going to come back. Deep inside I know he's gone forever.
There are so many unanswered questions. I wrote him a letter once, said everything I could think of to say; I poured my heart out on paper and told him things I'd never let myself even think before. But I'm who I am, and I didn't send it. It's still tucked inside an unsealed envelope in my top drawer. Sometimes I get it out and read it and wonder if things would be different if I wasn't too big of a coward to send it. Would he have gotten it? Would he have written back, been angry, regretful, relieved?
Would he have come home?
I don't know. Don't know much of anything anymore. All I know is I miss him and I need him and he's not coming home. I've accepted these things. What I can't accept is that he doesn't love me, not even just as a friend. I cannot accept the fact that he has called or written or even e-mailed everyone else in our little fallen-to-pieces family but me. I know it hurts, but doesn't he realize how much he hurts me? Does he just not care anymore?
She's gone, he's gone, I'm alone again and our group of friends has been reduced to fond memories and faded pictures and infrequent phone calls. We knew it was coming, we even let it happen. So why does it hurt so much?
Occasionally I wonder why I bother. I could just end it now and I wouldn't have to hurt anymore. But I know suicide isn't the answer. After all, I am supposed to be "the one of us to survive." So here I am, left behind here inside these familiar walls. Living in an empty shell that used to be alive with love and hope and promises everyone secretly knew they'd never be able to keep.
I always figured I'd be the last one to go. The only one of us who wasn't strong enough to let go. And I was right; everyone else has left this place in one way or another. I'm still here, waiting. For closure, for an absolution? Or maybe just waiting for his song to come on the radio again. Who knows. He's gone, I'm here . . what else really matters?