Laughter.
He was eight years old. Just gotten his first girlfriend, though his mother protested heavily.
"You're too young." She'd muse to him, sweeping golden blonde locks from wise, tired ocean eyes and wiping her hands on the towel in front of her, continuing preparing herself and her son their meal for their night with a sort of knowing tone.
"Mom, I think I know what I'm doing."
She'd just laugh at him and ruffle his equally gold tresses, and looking back on it, he realizes something.
He really, really misses her laughter.
Thinking back upon his childhood, he could remember a great deal of his mother, but not much else. After leaving home, he just wasn't himself anymore, and he figures that must be why he can't remember. He remembers the words his mother said though, that even through his life after she was gone, he'd remember. And he remembers exactly how it happened, and as he does, he feels a tear slide down his cheek, and spites it for what it's worth, reminiscing.
He was fourteen, and had just broken up with his last girlfriend. He told his mother this,
and she looked at him darkly, as if trying to remember something.
"You hurt her."
.."I didn't love her."
"Then you shouldn't have told her so."
"Mom, I--"
"Shush."
She'd turned around and glared at him with such an intensity that even he himself had been ashamed of his actions, though he didn't know why. Her hands on her hips and graying golden tresses spilled over her shoulders, the same eyes, ever wise, ever knowing.
"You broke her heart."
"Hearts nor money don't grow on trees. But unlike money, hearts can't be replaced, my son."
Those words stayed with him, always. Even when he had met the flower girl, the words stayed with him. When he gave his heart, and watched it die with her,
the words reverberated in his mind, making him go into temporary insanity.
He realizes sullenly, the girl had been a lot like is mother, and he loves both of them still. Maybe the flower girl in a different way,
but he loved them both nonetheless. & Creator of Creators, does he miss their laughter, his flower's sweet embrace, and his mother's wisdom.
& even now, as he sees his mother and Aerith holding out their hands to him with their shining wings from the Lifestream,
he can smile, remembering her words.
& as he took one of their hands in each of his own,
they all.. laughed.
R.I.P.
Cloud Strife
Age 64
"A Heart In The Chest Of Many That Will Never Be Replaced."