March was difficult.
March was lonely, because he was born in March.
The house was empty without his laughter, and her smile was dull without his smiles returning hers. Her happiness was fake, because without him she was hollow, empty. He saw it, her life slowly ebbing away. She walked around trying to act strong, pretending he would be returning from school any moment.
She would make his favorite dinner and set up an extra plate. She would make his bed and unmake it to trick herself into believing he slept in his bed that night. She would open the door to his room to wake him up then cry when she remembered he was gone.
He watched as his wife mourned, but she didn't heal. She'd stare blankly at the window sometimes. She sang his lullaby near his door and buy him a present when March came around. She would cry when she thought she was alone and go to his baseball games, even though he was never there.
She would smile and tell him that Timothy would be coming home any moment. She grew ill, she grew desperate. She'd curl in his bed and weep at night. She'd throw the extra plate across the kitchen when the food on it was still there. She'd cry while doing dishes or folding laundry. She'd hide under the coves of her bed and refused to speak.
Slowly, she became a stranger to him.
Slowly, he lost the girl he had fallen in love with.
He watched her die of heartbreak. It was painful to witness. Somehow, his love wasn't enough to heal the emptiness in her heart.
She would hold pictures of him and watch home videos. She would push him away when he tried to hold her, and then she'd collapse and start weeping on the floor. She stopped eating and stopped working. She ignored him when he tried to speak to her and she fell asleep curled up with Timothy's baseball cap he always wore.
She would hold herself and whisper pleas, pleading for her son to come home. The phone would ring and she would run to it, sobbing when it wasn't him, or the police telling her they found him safe and sound.
She was dying,
and all he could do was watch.
Timothy,
where have you gone?
You left us all alone
in an empty house
with empty words.
Timothy, come back
wherever you are.
You missed your baseball championship
and your eighth birthday.
You left us
without any notice.
Slowly, everything around me is dying
and I can't stand to watch.
I can't leave her alone
but even with me there
she's fading away.
Timothy, your mother
is dying without you
by her side.
You left behind nothing
but sweet memories
that are haunting her.
Timothy,
where did you go
on that cold October morning?
Did you leave us
or were you taken
and by who?
Timothy,
I want—we want
you to come home.
SHUTUP. Molly's talking;;
Based off the song "Timothy" by Jet.
Yeah, depressing. =/
Hurhur.
The ending was in poem form, in Kyou's POV.
I dunno if that's how Tohru would react if her son went missing, but whatever.
I almost wanted to make Kyou cheat on her. xD
I mean, she's like…practically not there. He needs attention.
But Kyou loves her too much to do that, so I was lyk 'naaah.'
Well, review! c: