we just fell short
summary:
A/N: just faint whispers reach you from the branch where I sit. "welcome back," you hear and look up to see me, but I am gone.
It was said that our story was to end in ink and blood. The people who foretold this came to us in whispers, and their voices carried and carried until the wind took the breath out of them. We should have listened, but we did not care. We were young and free and impressionable and we weren't done yet because everything was an adventure and it was only an adventure to us. So when we finally came to the end and realized, we choked on ashes and dust the wind blew because we had not returned a favor for it when it helped us. We gasped and lay down and died on the hillside in a damp afternoon and the world didn't care. We were denied access whatever lies beyond, if there even is such a thing, but all we wanted was for someone to care. All we wanted was redemption, and we were given none.
So here we are. Not really here, not really. Just a memory of us lives in the minds of those who once knew us and, when they die, they will be made to forget and we will disappear with unspoken words on our lips.
Where we will go, who knows? Only we when we are forgotten.
We want to stay, but there is a price to pay as there is for all things. Our price is that we must continue to find how to stay in order to stay. Funny, no? Of all things we have done, we cannot even be remembered by the world.
We are fading now, fading fast. But we have so much to tell, and our words are trapped as much as we are. Hope, it seems, is our only way to hold on to sanity. The desperation of it all. We can only hope, and pray.
Pray that hope is enough to save us in time to tell what we need to.
So much to say, and so little time left.
We will not be forgotten.
A whisper of us will arrive on the breeze from the doorsteps of the forgotten, but do not trust the wind for he will continue to blow in the direction the people want him to.
Roam and wander. We won't see each other again.