and overnight, persephone goes free
That's why, she concludes, some ghosts need to be given up.
—
She could never justify the loneliness—she's not his motherbrothersisterfathergirlfriend—she's well aware; hyperaware even. There's no justification for the puffy eyes or the tea tasting of saline. They were nothing (and now he's less then nothing).
She tries not to think about it.
She tries to move on because she's always been something of a pragmatic—she takes her job at the hospital, she washes and irons her white coats, she scowls at the clumsiness of kids when it's appropriate, she kisses Naruto when it's expected of her; it's all very routine, and there's something in the order of it that keeps her almost at bay—
but not quite, because sometimes she still finds herself wilting, still finds herself thinking 'what if' and 'if only', still sees him peeking out from behind her husband's grin or her son's shoulders. There are times when she still finds herself trekking down to the village cemetery, settling asphodels against the sturdy granite, whispering—
("I didn't think you would mind.")
—and not just meaning the flowers.
a/n: in greek mythology, asphodels are flowers which are connected with the dead and the underworld (=hades) as well as with persephone, who wears a garland of asphodels on her head. furthermore was she also supposed to be an antidote for poisonous snake-bites.
