This is the first thing I've finished in a while (and also the first first-person pov). It's also really sad due to a few people in my life going through loss and my own worries. Anyways, here you go.
You're kissing her like she is destined to disappear, thus, taking away your light (she shines brighter than anything you've ever seen and ever will see). And you're crying because you can't believe that you got so lucky –how the fuck did you get so lucky?
'James,' you hear her whisper, her voice sounding like the world was shattering around her. You wished it wouldn't, wished that you could make it so that she would never have to see you like this because your world is shattering. They're dead. Dead. How could you live in a world without them, without your mother's teasing nature and the way she'd hug you every night you were home as if you too would disappear. She was so tiny, so fragile.
How could you live without your father who smelled like coffee first thing in the morning and found it fun to bond over the crossword. He was your role model, the kind of husband you inspired to be, the kind of father you one day hoped to be.
They let you have the brother you had always wanted, an adopted one who they loved an adored just as they loved and adored you. He was their son too.
'They're dead, Lily, dead.' And you cried because you had her, because she married you and let you be a mess. But you no longer had them and that would always wreck you. Perhaps you would see them in the afterlife, healthier than they had been in their last years.
'I know.' What else was there to be said? That she was sorry? You knew she was, that she had loved them as she had loved her own in life and in death. And they had loved her from the moment they had meant, officially having given her the Euphemia and Fleamont Potter stamp of approval.
Rest in peace, mum and dad.
She looked scared as she announced, 'I'm pregnant.' You go to her, tears in your eyes and wrap your arms around her, lightly lifting her up from the ground. You love her, you love them.
You mumble that into her skin, placing kisses on her neck, the tears on her cheeks, her lips.
'It'll be okay,' you say not realizing that that was a lie. Perhaps nothing would ever be okay.