Author's Note: Written at 4 in the morning. I blame this on my bad habit of never turning off my phone.
No, they weren't meant to be.
They weren't the sort of "forever" that people pictured. They weren't meant to be the sort that sat at the dinner table and talked about their day over a healthy and average meal. They weren't meant to lie on soft blue-green grass and talk insipidly about the brightness of the stars or some other dribble.
They're stupid ghosts with bright dreams and aspirations; dominoes stacked into tall skyscrapers and coffee shops that smelled nothing like they should. They're not good enough for each other, nothing but rough-edged puzzle pieces that hack away at bits to fit together.
They're happy together, the same way that fresh rain is happy upon touching solid ground; the anticipation of knowing that you're so close to home and can taste the warmth on your tongue. It's also tragic, knowing that nothing is the same, knowing that this version of you isn't theirs.
Blaine Anderson.
Kurt Hummel.
Two puffed up little birds with ruffled feathers and blue wings; they blend together, lackluster and only making the other burn out faster.
They're not meant to be 'forever', yet, they can't be 'goodbye'.
Goodbye is for a friend, for a chapter that was blessed and kissed before being pressed into a little black book, hidden in the top drawer. Goodbye tastes like citrus fruit, the same way limes and lemons do. Goodbyes pucker and peck, leaving crinkles and holes in luxury furniture and designer scarves.
The same can be said about silence between them.
Drifting feels like floating away, carried on the backs of bright yellow monsters with capital T's and other letters that have lost their meanings. Bright flashing lights that smell like success and pretty makeup'ed marionettes that can barely breathe as faces fill soft seats. One will beckon the other, coax him out of their modern cave, where the rooms are barely threaded and the photos that hanging around look like a perfect, nonexistent them and the reflections that chase them.
The other will string along, invisible tail waggling and frown lines softening. Then, he'll catch another glimpse of the glitter and spotlights his worse-r, or better depending on which of the two you ask, half lives in and he'll head back home, where the walls smile and the bedroom smells like his own cologne.
The one that hides is still special, with the masses following his siren calls and drowning him in green-tinged paper; he just happens to have decided that his soon to come, decades are worthless in the end, death should reflect his life. Once he's gone, their domino city is sure to fall.
They're not meant to be forever but being nothing is harder than it looks.
Until the last domino collapses and the deep white imprints are all facing down, sinking into the same ground that once held them up, they will be Blaine and Kurt; and forever will fall.