One.
The first time I lost you, I drank myself into a stupor. I drew the shades and wrapped myself up in self pity. If you could have seen me, you'd have been ashamed. I just know it.
And the Doubt that had crept up my spinal cord and into my brain for weeks and weeks, he smiled, baring his rotten teeth. I could feel his breath against my face as he said, "You see, Remus, he was a traitor after all."
The first time I lost you, I stopped believing in myself. When the full moon came, I carved your name into my skin, wore it like a warning label. I swore that you were my greatest love and my biggest mistake and the scent of firewhisky on my robes only made me think of how your kisses tasted the night before they dragged you away.
You are still my greatest love even now.
The first time. Merlin, that first time…
(I still remember reading about you in the Prophet. I still remember your face.
You were laughing.)
Two.
The second time I lost you, I knew it the moment I realized you'd come with us. I heard your voice behind me, let it fill my chest, let the wave of disappointment crash, knowing it always comes back around. Always. It's something to do with moons and tides and pushing and pulling, and in the end, it's always you, isn't it, Sirius? You always come back around.
And I don't know if you had any idea how bad it hurt. How you twisted the knife when you smiled in my direction, and pulled it out when you fell back.
(The second time I lost you, you were laughing again.
And I think that's what hurt the most.)
Countless.
The second time I lost you should have been the last, but it wasn't.
I lose you on a nightly basis. I dream of how we used to be, how we were meant to be. You are Padfoot and I am Moony, and we say love. We say love like it's easy.
I dream of firewhisky kisses and your fingers tracing faded, self inflicted scars. You find where I have etched your name into my wrists in the dim light of a half moon and you whisper mine against my skin.
mineminemine
I have lost count of how many times I have woken up to an empty bed when I swear you had just been holding me like you used to do. The memory of you still lingers in that place between sleep and awake, and I don't understand how you could feel so real. So alive.
I have lost count of the times I've heard you laughing me awake. I hear you barking in the distance. I hear you calling me home.
And wherever you are now, I hope that there is another life for us. I hope that our could-have-beens play out for you in some other place. The veil whispers and I'd like to think it means there is a future after this, that in the next life, maybe, just maybe we could get it right.
(Are you with me now? Are we laughing, love?
I hope so.
God, I hope so.)