I wake up to find the spot next to mine cold again. I lie there on my stomach with the blanket somewhere near my wait and look at the bed pillow beside me that is empty. I look at it I get tired but don't look away. He used to be there, he used to lie on the side facing me, sometimes with an arm around my waist. He used to lie there after we'd made love and lie looking at me while I looked back at him. Those times a candle used to illuminate our room and it made his hair glisten and reflect it so it looked from where I was that he really was an angel. People never understood him, they always thought he was cruel and he didn't have a heart. It seemed like that to me too whenever he took possession of my body.
But it changed, when I fell in love with him exactly I can't remember but the first time he kissed me, think it would push me over the edge, it didn't. I remember at first being too shocked but when he pushed into the kiss, I pushed back and he stopped but kept his lips on mine. I had my eyes open and he opened his and he told me many times after that the look I had right then made him fall in love with me right there in the spot. I open the eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed and I feel my tears falling again.
I remember what happened after that moment, he kissed me with a passion that grew greater every kiss that followed and that night we bonded with each other, marking the other as our mate. I remember his heat, that warmth that he always emitted even in those days when he was sick. Those nights when he had nightmares and clung to me and held me so tight it seemed I'd suffocate from him, those were the nights I liked best. A small smile comes to me when I think about it now. I remember the time he got jealous, how his eyes lit up with a murderous rage, grabbed me and kissed me so that I thought I'd pass out right there in his arms, the drive back which passed in a flurry, the fight in bed that ended up in such heated passion. I remember not being able to walk staraight for a week or two after that but I thought that night was one of the most amazing nights of my life.
Then I remember him coughing up blood one day and the next the doctor saying he had a sickness that'd kill him within a couple years. I remember the terror that passed through me that second, the thought of losing him? After all those years, after all that we'd been through. He stroked my hand to help relieve the pain I'd been causing him with my death-grip. He smiled a tiny smile that only I got to see. A smile that was supposed to reassure me and it did fix it a bit but the doctor's blow had crocked my entire world. The days after that were a blur but I remember breaking down and him supporting me even though the role was supposed to be supporting him.
I feel the sun on my back and realize that the hours flew by again and that it's time to get up, but to me it seems pointless, what is there for me to do now that my love is gone. I want to join him, but he told me that I had to live, that I would not hurt myself. I won't break that promise but I also can't forget him, it's eating at my heart. I go through my routine like I do every day now, and through the day see what he'd do if he were here. Then when the sun is setting, that is the time he loved best. I get some white roses that he'd never admit to be his favorite either but he told me he liked them best because they remind him of me.
I go through the same path through countless gravestone and tombs looking for the one that is holding my love. I look at the tombstone when I find it and a tear escapes me before I collapse in my knees and the tears start flowing again.
Yami Bakura
1960-2005
Loving husband, Cherished Friend and a Trickester at peace