I Never Thought Badly of You.

I can remember death, like most can remember a few moments ago. I can feel the air around me thinning---suddenly not enough--like you can feel someone's hand on yours.

Vague, but there all the same.

And I think simply of him. Thinking of how things might have--no, should have--been. How I should be in his arms and not her. Cheeks pressed against eachother, his warm around encircled around me. His breath against my ear, and his mouth on mine.

I speak often of warmth, it is cold here.

He comes here sometimes, because he is guilty. He feels its his fault that I died. That I was murdered. And despite his silence while we were alive, while I had all my chances to be with him, held to him, loved by him. . . now everything is being said.

A ghost cannot dream, or else I'd say that I dream of him. No, I remember him. Remember his eyes, his face, his hands, his sword, nose, mouth . . . I loved his mouth. And I think to moments that could've been more . . .

But for now, until he does not need me anymore, I am here. Content to be called upon when he needs me, and appear by his side. I want him to know, desperately, that he is not alone.

He's never been alone.

I remember his face as one remembers kindness. I remember his voice as one remembers a romance--with fondness.

And he is here now, across from me. Beaten? Not my handsome warrior.

"Cloud. . . So you came. . . Even when your about to break yourself, right?" I pause for a long while, thinking, "But that's probably a good sign. . . . " I stared ahead of myselfI have a question! Why Do you come here?"

He turns looks at me with those eyes that would make my heart beat and knees weaken, if I were alive. I can imagine the feeling, like liquid. My heart thudding in my chest and ears. " I think I want to be forgiven. . . .Yeah. . . I want to be forgiven. . . ."

"By Who?" I kinda laugh at him. Looking ahead of me at all the countless flowers, Finally, "I never thought badly of you." I saw and I can feel it in my entire being.

Not once.

Never.

I love you. . . . can't you see? I wish. . . oh, I wish!

But how foolish is it to dwell upon something, that will never be?

I Don't own Final Fantasy. I wish, though.

Review, please.