He was the type of lonely you could get addicted too. He wasn't sad...Just lonely. Though he had every reason to be both, he wasn't. Somehow he'd granted himself the ability to to move on and forget...However he never quite forgave.
How could he forgive Arthur for being his emotional Nazi for all those years as a child? How could he forgive Francis...Papa, for letting it happen the way it did? How could he ever forgive Alfred for leaving without him? How does anyone forgive the things that happened to poor Matthew?
Francis never told the truth until it was to late. He'd lied to Matthew for so many years and Matthew believed every word he said. He never knew the man he called Papa was a coward and would give him up so easily. He never knew Francis was never really his father. He never knew that when he was already down he could still be kicked.
Then came Arthur...Matthew had never met a man who was so angry. There was nothing anyone could do to please Arthur, he was always yelling at the top of his lungs at everyone...Especially Matthew. It was mainly because Matthew looked like his brother, Alfred...
Alfred had hurt Arthur in a way that made your heart ache. With Alfred gone, Matthew was left to take his punishment. Matthew learned Alfred's lesson for him, nobody hurts Arthur.
Alfred only cared for himself now, you'd never get anything from him unless he decided it would benefit him in the end. He found that Matthew, his own brother, was worthless. After hearing it for all these years, Matthew believed it. He'd never realized until now that he was just living in Alfred's shadow...It was a shadow much larger than his own, so he knew he'd never fit into it.
When the three of those men had come to find Matthew all grown up- they were all just a little to late. They all shook their heads and sighed, calling him weak as the laid him to eternal rest. They'd never know that Matthew was really a stronger man than any of them would ever be. He'd been put through so many forms of torture all through his life because of them but kept moving. He kept moving until now. Still, they'd never know.
They'd never see, never hear and never wonder. The twenty-three year old had thought as he walked to the edge of the roof top. Papa won't fight for me, Arthur won't cry as hard as he did when Alfred left...If he cries at all. Alfred...Alfred will know...And he won't care.
With that thought, he sent himself spiraling downward into the monochrome world below.