Death!fic. Angst. Written in six minutes. Not very good. Speaking in broken sentences. Time for bed.
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What if things could have been different?
That's a question I keep asking myself.
And keep asking myself and keep asking myself...
What if things could have been different?
He's gone. Just...gone...
And I miss him. I miss him more than I thought I would.
I mean...we broke up, didn't we? Beckett and Cadman is a thing of the past...
I shouldn't miss him this way...
I shouldn't miss him this much...
If I didn't love him.
Which is what I told him.
Which isn't true.
Which is a statement I'll never get to recant now that he's gone.
Why is it every time I find something...find something good, something that I need...why is it I let it go?
Why do I let it go without thinking?
Why do I always realize just how good I had it, just how much I needed it, only when it's gone?
But by then it's too late.
And if ever there was a time when it was 'too late'...this is definitely it, isn't it?
He's dead...he's buried...
And he'll never know.
That isn't fair. That isn't fair at all.
I could spend a lot of time standing here, saying 'What if things had been different'...
Hell, that's what I'm doing, isn't it?
I shouldn't be, I know I shouldn't be.
But that's the only thing I can think of to do right now...
What if?
It just keeps repeating and repeating in my head, circling like a caged animal and I can't make it go away.
What if, what if, what if...
It still feels so unreal. I'm staring at the patch of freshly upturned earth that he's beneath and I can't seem to reconcile that it's real.
I'm half tempted to pinch myself and check, but I know that won't do any good.
So I'll just do what everyone else does. Put my flowers near the headstone and walk away.
Pretend that I didn't love him.
Pretend that I can go on without him.
Pretend there aren't any regrets to be had.
Pretend...just for now...that there is no such thing as 'What if'.
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A/N: So. Blah. (It's three in the morning, I'm tired, that's as coherent as I get. Deal with it.)
Written in response to the one hundred first sentences challenge on the When Plot Bunnies Attack forum, number four: What if things could have been different?
