She was the light. She was the goodness. She was the perfection in the world, the one hope still left on earth.
He loved her once.
Yet she didn't notice. Her eyes were focused of another, on the one boy who could care less than anyone else on the planet. To this boy, she was a worthless cause, something better left untouched. To him, she was the item that would corrode his fingers upon contact, that would eat away at his sanity until he was admitted into intensive care.
The other didn't care about her at all.
But he did. Yes, he loved her more than life in himself. He wanted her more than he wanted his parents back. If he could, he'd trade the world for her gaze, give his life to be acknowledged by her, trade thousands of lives for one simple touch from those gentle hands.
Nothing he did every attracted her attention.
He was left alone for years, forced to find the errors in his own ways and change them to be better, to be stronger, faster, kinder. More like him, less like himself. She'd like him then.
He confessed his love.
She stared and laughed.
He died inside.
Another year vanished. Another hour passed. But she was still the light.
He loved her endlessly.
She forgot, she moved on, she loved another. Quickly he watched her change, watched her grow. He saw as she progressed through life, how she grew muscles and a will that would devour his own. He felt that tinge of pain that came with seeing her with that other from so long ago, felt the emptiness overwhelm his body as he realized the fight was lost.
She smiled now, she laughed. She had a daughter, a son, a husband. He had nothing but a broken heart.
He loved her more.
No one could heal his pain. No one could act as medicine, could be the sweet release to the suffering he had been suffering. No one but him.
He hung the rope.
She was gorgeous, his mind says. Her pink hair, her green eyes. Her thin body, her succulent lips. Clear skin, a good heart. Kindness oozing out of her...
He cried.
She was lovely, she was everything.
She was the light.
He fell.
She didn't notice. She didn't care. She didn't know. Because she never wanted to know. She would never know until it was too late, until he was gone and she realized that, all along, the other had never been hers, had never loved her like he would have loved her.
He died forever.
She would still smile. She would still laugh. She would still have a daughter, a son, a husband. Yet he would still have nothing but a broken heart, still be as lonely as he could ever be. She was the only one he would ever love. She was the light, the hope, the endless suffering in his life. Yet she was his perfection, his goodness.
He loved her still.