Disclaimer: All characters belong to CBS and their creators at CSI: NY.
A/N: A piece that was torn out of me quite unexpectedly. Take from it what you will.
She stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her. Her hand gripped the ballpoint pen in a killing chokehold. What to write? How to say what she felt? What she dreamed? What she longed for, wished for, lusted after?
"My dearest"… no.
"My darling"… no.
"My only"… no.
"My own"… no.
She reached without looking, knocking over a full cup of coffee as cold as the breath in her lungs. She didn't bother to clean it up.
"I don't know how to start this…"… no.
"I wish I had a way…"… no.
"It seems so long ago…"… no.
"It feels like seconds since…"… no.
She barely noticed the tears pouring down her face, staining the pristine page, smudged by her shaking hand.
"You always…"… no.
"You never…"… no.
"You lied…"… no.
"You love me…"… no.
She put her face down on the paper and for the first time felt the hot, shamefully hot tears fall out of her. How could her tears be so warm when she was so cold, so very cold.
"I love you…"… yes.
"I miss you…"… yes.
"Why are you so far away…"… yes.
"I love you. I miss you. Why are you so far away?"
"My pillow doesn't smell of you anymore. I don't know how to fix that. Don't know the perfect combination of shampoo and clean laundry, of shaving cream and spaghetti sauce, of Guinness and toothpaste and bad coffee."
"I can no longer feel your touch when I close my eyes. I can remember it. Remember vaguely what your lips tasted like against mine. Remember vaguely the feeling of your hands in my hair, your arms around me, your breath against my throat. Remember vaguely the feeling of your body over mine, under mine, wrapped around me as tightly as my own skin."
"My apartment looks like no one lives here. It is empty, without your shoes at the door, your razor at the sink, your afghan on the couch, your ball and glove on the mantelpiece, your knives in the kitchen, your underwear on the floor in the bedroom."
"My life is as empty as my apartment without your blue eyes, your smile, your laugh, your hands, your walk, your shouting at the ball game, your speaking with your mouth full, your sleeping with your glasses on, your singing in the shower, your humming as you cook, your playing with the dog, your indulgence in movies, your teasing, your testing, your love."
As every night, she goes onto that which is laughingly called a balcony, lights a match, and watches as her tears are burned away into the night sky.
"I love you. I miss you. Why are you so far away?"
