Monday left me broken.

He does not know, how long, how far he had travelled. But he holds the hope that he will know when he had travelled enough. He has dragged his tired legs across the continent, he had given care about what he wore and had made effort to change his appearance, he learnt to speak proper English, got a passport, got a visa, got a ticket, had a good reason for his metal arm (Amputee apparently, but it was true). And now, he was aboard a plane to a continent called Canada and he was going to the north of it. To a place called Nunavut.

But he does not know why he was going to Nunavut. He knows when he will reach Nunavut and he knows where he wants to go when he reaches Nunavut. But he does not know why. He does not know why he is going out of Washington DC in the first place.

He was doing all these subconsciously. Like he was going to a place, a home. Everyone knew where their home is. Maybe, subconsciously, he knew where his was.

Tuesday I was through with hoping.

He walked the barren white lands for longer than he could count. He was freezing, the cold was starting to get into his bones. It was starting to trigger bad things.
It was starting to trigger nightmares. Nightmares that happened now, as he walked. As he was awake and his eyes were open. His nightmares were hallucinating in front of him and he can do nothing. He can't touch them. His fingers pass through them like he was breaking a water surface and they won't go away.

Where was his home? Where is he? This is a barren white land of ice, there was no light. It was all night. There may be stars twinkling in the sky above, but the howling wind racking up his body took the enchantment away. They were just white dots in a black and blue background now.

He just kept moving forward, dragging his numbed legs through the ice and snow, cold freezing his abiotic arm, and triggering spine shivering hallucinations.

Wednesday my empty arms are open.

He saw lights before he saw the building. They were yellow glowing on the horizon, and he could not be any happier. He knew what it was before actually seeing it. It was his salvation. His escape. His home. He found it.
The cold did not let him run towards his salvation. It made him slow and trudge through the snow. But his anticipation, his enthusiasm, they made up for the tardiness of his travel.

He grew close to the house. And he was able to see it in all its glory.

The house was a large one. But at the same time still average. It looked to have three floors, and on the exterior, it looked classy. It was not very modern, it was the shape of a perfect rectangular and it had a grey brick exterior wall that looked like it was only a wallpaper. The windows in the house looked to be the same, wide panes with no sills. They were darkened, meant that he could not see inside, but they were not dark enough to trap light from escape outside. The front door of this house was a brown one, it fitted snugly and it stood out perfectly against the exterior of the house.

Yellow light spilt from within, and from within, he could see life inside.

At the last few steps leading towards the end of his travel, he hurries on his pace. The life within the house seemed have been able to notice him from several hundred meters away, and started to still.

Thursday waiting for love, waiting for love.

The brown door opens in a slow. He was barely ten feet away when it opened up to reveal the woman.

His journey, his travel, had came to an end. He knows it. He knows it well. And this lady before him, this Dame, if she had meant anything, she would be his reward, according to what his senses tells him, that is. The sense of familiarity that exploded upon sight of her was not lost to him. He had became drawn towards her for the very first time he could remember meeting.
He knew that they had only just met, or his memories could only go that far. Physically, he does not know her. He does not know how she talked, how she walked. He does not know her. She was a stranger.

But mentally, it felt like she was everything to him. The sense of familiarity did not feel like familiarity anymore. It was like he downright knew everything she was.

And it seems, that this lady knew him too. This lady had a gun in her hands when she opened up the door to meet him. But the gun had dropped to the floor as she whispered a name not a many should know.

"Bucky?"

Thank the stars its Friday.

She had sat him down in front of her simple yet strong, wooden table for two. It looked plenty of sturdy and plenty of breakable at the very same time. She made a mug of whatever, something that smelled like strong coffee, and placed it before him. Before sitting down on the other end of this lovely ochre table.

"Do you remember me, Bucky?" She asks him. Her voice was soft, and it sounded kind. He can't help but to answer truthfully.

"I don't. But I feel like I do."

She gives a smile, a light one at that, before it melted into words.

"It's alright. We can work with that."

She stands up and she crosses over to him, asking him to stand and make his way to her sofa, then saying something like tending to his wounds.

He wanted to drink the coffee. But he didn't. He opted the sofa instead.
He walks through the corridor, into the living room, past the television wall, and sat himself onto the soft cushions of the large brown sofa. And promptly fell to his side, conscious out before he hit the cushions.

I'm burning like a fire gone wild on Saturday.

He woke up to a dimly lit room. The first he saw was the baby blue of the ceiling, and the first he felt was the soft mattress underneath his body. His hands grasped the thick comforter that cover his legs as he remembered all that caught up to him. It was overwhelming.

He found home. He found someone.

The Dame knew him, she didn't judge him. She knew what he did. She had said she would help him. He placed trust in her. He trusted her.

As he sniffed his tears back into where they belonged, an arm over his eyes while he tried his best to remember her. Because he was feeling so much Deja vu around her and it was starting to annoy him.

Barely any snippets came, but it was enough. He remembered her name. He remembers her name. He remembered.

The room of the door opens quietly, whereas daylight was unable to enter through the curtained windows, it spilled from the door. He lowers his arm, and he looks at her.

Brunette and gentle.

"Your name is Darcy Lewis."

A few feet away by the door, Darcy's heart swelled.

Guess I won't be coming to church on Sunday.

"Fruit loops or Frosties?" She asks, holding up a box of the respective cereal in each hand over the counter for him to see.

He took one look at the covers of the cereals advertising their products, then blinks at her before shrugging.

"I don't know, aren't they the same?"

Her smile sudden grew too forced. Strained. She cocks her head to one side.

He wonders what he had done wrong to warrant such an expression from her. He had never been able to choose between choices before, he has never been this pampered before. He had never even seen these cereals before, what was the difference between colored hoops and sugary flakes anyways?

"You want both? Sure, why not? I do that all the time." She says, as if he had replied with words that she wanted to hear. Was cereal that much of a big deal today?

He shrugs again as she turns around to do her thing.

A small crooked smirk makes its way to his lips, his muscles still shaky in forming the smile, but nonetheless it became one.

This kind of pampering, he can do with it.

Hi, greetings from the Author's side of the world. I hope you enjoyed this.
Nope, I don't think its gonna be a one-shot. maybe a full blown story, I dunno, I'll just see where this takes me.

The bold words up there are extracted from Avicii's Waiting For Love.

Thanks for reading. Review if you have any enquiries, I'll accept anything.
Ciaosu ;D