19. The amount of years it's been since we last spoke.
19. The amount of years I have suffered.
19. The amount of years you've been gone.
19. My least favourite number.
I miss you. Your laugh, your smile, your jokes. Sure, everyone was devastated when you died... They lost bits and pieces of themselves. The damage done to them was a lot less that the damage done to me, though. I lost... myself. If only you knew...
Every day I curse being alive.
Every day I wish I could bring you back.
Every day I cry.
Every day I die a little inside.
I have a little boy. I named him after you, of course. He will never understand the pain I feel every time I call his name. Merlin, it hurts. I miss you. I hope you miss me. Percy took it surprisingly hard... He wouldn't talk to anyone for the longest time, especially me. No one would talk to me. Even to this day, anyone that knew you tries to avoid talking to me for too long. I'm so alone.
I wish...
I hope...
I pray...
I cry...
Nothing has changed... 19 years... I can't believe it's been so long. Watching life pass before me without you?... More like 19 eternities. We never used to tell each other, but I love you. It was an unspoken rule between us that we never had to say it; we would just know. I don't care about the unspoken rule now. I wish I had said it more. I wish I could have said it one more time before you died.
Why not me?
Why wasn't I the one to go?
Why do the good die young?
Why can't I turn back the time and take the hit for you?
Sometimes there is no next time, no time outs, no second chances. Sometimes, it's now or never. I wish there were second chances... That way I could spend more time with you, though we spent basically all our time together anyways. Well, I guess you're the holy one now.
Remember that joke?
Remember all our jokes?
Remember the good times?
Remember me?
20 years was all I got to spend with you. I have to live the rest of my life knowing that there was always that one thing I could have done to switch our places. I would be happier that way, Fred. With you. Dead.
19. The amount of years it's been since we last spoke.
19. The amount of years I have suffered.
19. The amount of years you've been gone.
19. My least favourite number.