a/n: hey so this is first in a series of poems/drabbles/headcanons set in and around the shadowhunter chronicles that are too short to be standalones. this is from second person POV of simon, during the 5 month time skip between the cold peace and the CoHF epilogue.
you watch the scene playing out
behind closed eyelids. it's
the only way you can
remember.
at least,
you think that this is
remembering. you recall
their names.
isabelle. maia. clary.
words that burn on the tip of
your tongue like
ash. bitter. ever-fleeting.
you ask about past lives
and yet you know that
you have lived this.
it is too present
to be past - to have passed.
sweat beads on your forehead
and your hands shake.
remember. remember. remember.
and then you wake up,
and you forget.
again. perhaps there was
a time when the day
didn't rob you
of memories that seem
to unravel like fabric that's been
left to decay
when you press too
hard. perhaps there will be a
time after. maybe it does
not matter. maybe you are
always
simon lewis, sixteen,
plays guitar and keeps kosher.
it's spring break and
the air tastes like danger.
you wonder how you know what
that means. the only danger you
have ever faced is mrs tilsbury,
eighth grade, algebra 1.
you don't understand why
it feels like half of
your heart is
missing. you've never been
in love
before.
and then spring break is over
and you're sitting on the stairs
outside school. she pops into
existence. black hair. black
eyes. heartbroken.
finally,
finally,
you get it.