Disclaimer: I don't own Latter Days, I just play in the sandbox.
Song at the end by Rebekah Jordan for Latter Days. I posted this years ago to adultfanfiction and thought it was about time I brought it here.
Tuesday, 3am
I sit with him, unable to reach out and touch, unable to offer comfort. All I can do is watch as his heart breaks all over again.
He's never been so tidy, everything neatly put away and cleaned. It rings with silence and pain; he is surrounded by cleanliness and fullness, yet his eyes have never been so empty and broken. I know a part of him will never recover, a part of him will never be fixed. It hurts more than anything else, knowing the pain in his soul won't find an end.
Every night I watch him, curled up in bed trying to sleep. I can almost see your ghost by his side, tormenting him with your memory as he fails to find solace even in his own dreams. He grows thinner and paler day by day, he draws further from me and closer to you, a ghost in his own right. How can your ghost haunt him so, when even your presence was never appreciated? How can he regret now what he never appreciated in life?
He flips your picture from hand to hand, he imagines you're there. He hears your giggle in each step, and your cries in each word. He breaks a little more each day that you're gone.
He looks so like a fallen angel today, his halo tarnished and his wings broken. Tears stain a face that should be lit with joy and lips that should eternally smile are twisted downwards. A fallen angel soon to be a ghost. Maybe then he'll find peace, once more by your side.
"Tuesday 3am" Lyrics, Rebekah Jordan from Latter Days.
Tuesday 3:00 a.m.
Once again I'm wide awake.
Waiting for time to mend this part of me that keeps on breaking.
Newpapers I threw away, washed the dishes in the sink.
3 a.m. on Tuesday, I have too much time to think.
And I could call up to heaven, or I could crawl down to hell,
Nothing will change the way things are and nothing ever will.
He thinks I can't hear him cry and I pretend that I don't know, or
about all the 3 a.m.'s he spends wrestling with your ghost.
I hear him call out to heaven, I watch him crawl down to hell,
He still can't get over you, I know he never will.
Nothing he says will bring you back,
He's got nothing left to show
But a pocket watch and memories of a kiss out in the snow.
And I hear him call out to heaven, I watch him crawl down to hell.
He still can't get over you, I know he never will.