I almost forgot what colour her eyes were.

Its funny, when you're alone, sittin' by yourself on the cold hard floor with nothing to do but think how you do anything but that. I mean, I'm sitting here now, staring at the woven thread that sits at my feet in the form of a rug, and funnily enough, I can't think of anything but how she used to attack me whenever I jarred the edges of the rug so it folded up into a weird, five sided shape rather than a perfect rectangle.

Those little moments.

Funny, huh?

I miss her.

I miss her so damn much.

Everyone knocks. They knock here to bring pity, but I don't want it. Pity can't fill the hole that is slowly growing until I know I am going to fall into it, too. Pity doesn't bring her back. Pity doesn't make the feeling that someone is stuffing cotton wool down my throat and suffocating me till I'm crawling around on the floor with tears streaming down my eyes. I don't want to talk to people. People are low. People don't understand, and they miss-judge, and they think I'll get over this.

I wont get over this.

It wasn't ever like that, it wasn't ever like I ever said I loved her. But, in that moment, with her blood between her fingers, I felt like I could say it over and over and over and over until my mouth was bleeding along with hers. But I couldn't. I choked up. I never got the chance to say three stupid words that had burned themselves in my stare everytime I looked at her. And now, now I can't look at her at all.

I almost forgot what colour her eyes were.

They were green, but they were so green, and now, that intensity is gone.

I pull my legs up to my chest and curl my arms around my knees, but the aching is still there. Am I going to throw up again? Maybe. Its not like I'm eating anything. I want to die. I want to starve and suffocate and burn all in one, so I'm punishing myself. I'm not living any more. I don't go outside and see the sun. I don't get hungry. I don't want to drink or sleep or be human. I want to be a weapon, an object. She dragged my soul subconciously with hers the day she left me here, alone, and now even though I can feel the own thudding of my life force in my chest, I can't feel hers, and thus, it doesn't matter if I am living or not. We were one person. We shared everything. We were partners. We were more.

The not-so-rectangular rug is staring up at me.

I press my face into the joints of my wrists, and I howl. Because I can.

These tears are not funny.

Its not funny, when you're sitting there, by yourself, with all the time in the world to think. The house is empty. Theres no life in it anymore, even if I'm here. This rug reminds me of her, stupidly. Its flat, and dorky looking, and it smells like old paper. But its lively, and its loving, and its familiar, and it always wants to be perfect. Its only me that ruin the edges of this rug. She shouts at me for it. So, for some reason, I am now closer to this flat-chested, stupid-yet-smart, angry, violent rug than I am with any of my friends. But its just a rug. It can't hug me when I'm sad, it can't make me happy with its smiles, it can't give me a reason for being alive.

Its staring up at me.

I miss her.

I miss her so damn much.

I'm waiting to die, too. I just want to cry all my blood out till I am lifeless on the floor. I have thought about suicide, but she wouldn't want that. No, I wont kill myself. Nature'll kill me. Or something. I'm not smart enough to figure out the complex workings of my own mind. I only know what is what. Shes gone. Thats what. I know that, for sure. And there isn't any way to bring her back. And there is no point, anyhow. I'm already dying. I can't stop it. I can't.

The only way left is to die, too.

Maybe that way, I will remember those eyes forever.

I hug the rug to my chest.

I almost forgot what colour her eyes were.

These tears are not funny.

And her eyes were green.

They were so green.

I love you.

I wish I hadn't have choked.

There are so many fics where Soul dies and Maka is alone. I wanted to write one the other way around, instead.

if you like it, please comment! If I get enough love, I might even turn this into a fanficiton.

I've always wanted to write a fic about Maka dying and how Soul would react over time :o as in, maybe a real slow death. Emotional torture ftw.

Much love! x