Don't rush. We're not important
Who do you blame when the world falls apart at your feet? Do you blame the red-headed little girl, who slept in a garden, just waiting for him to come and find her? The woman who waited 14 years to be found again? Or maybe it's nobody's fault at all, maybe, just maybe, it was fate. Her departure was for the best, right? The World couldn't cope with both of them together, not with what was between them. There was a risk that if they pursued, or even allowed themselves to feel that inevitable feeling, that everything around them would collapse.
He felt both of his hearts shatter to pieces when she wrapped her fingers through the handle of her suitcase and pulled it up by her waist.
"Are you really going to leave?" He choked out, eyes stuck to the floor, fingers curled in his pockets.
She swallowed loudly before she spoke, trying to rid herself of the knot buried in her throat,
"I have to."
He knew the words were true, as did she, but that knowledge couldn't stop the crumbling of a part of them.
And then she was gone. Memories left. An empty room to fill, a gaping hole in his chest and a loveless life
who knew she'd have this affect on him? Did you? He certainly didn't. There was more chance of him knowing every single thing there was to know in the whole entire universe than he had of knowing how he'd react to her. She'd changed him. Changed them, changed the world. Created the world, a new world, carved from Scottishness and brilliance, deep wonder woven into the pavements she laid out, the ocean floor as deep as her heart, the sky as high as her mind.
She made this world, and now she was leaving it, abandoning it, abandoning him.
When the door closed, he remembered her, reeled on the facts he knew rang true, and forgot the things he knew were not. One particular thought sprung to mind: her hair. Oh, that wonderful hair! That crimson coloured mass, acting like a beacon that bought him home whenever he got lost.
Now she was gone, lost and lone, he was only left with this. Scars, memories – what's the difference? A life once lived. A life now forgotten, buried, thrown into the void.
His wounds were deep, so deep that you could get lost within them. So many memories that scarred him, tortured him every day and every night, but she could fix him. An orange ribbon would be the glue that held him together, that pulled him tight and kept him in check. She would be his saviour, but not anymore. No fairytale ending for this lost little boy. There was never a fairytale ending for him, for he was too lost in her.
He had fallen, flown, swam in her. Lusted, needed, desired, wanted, craved, held close, pushed away, said he loved her, retracted it a moment later, claiming she had misheard him and you really need to see someone about your hearing, Amy, it's becoming quite a problem, sent mixed messages, demanded they all made sense and she simply wasn't paying attention, lied and plotted, pretended and smiled and laughed with her, hurt deep down and hid himself well from her prying eyes, let himself go when alone, held himself in place when around her, watched her fall apart, tried to piece her back and failed, hugging the broken little girl tight to his chest and crying with her, sharing her tears, loss, love, joy, faith, hatred, feeling, understanding, cryptic messages and lost words. Forever the liar, this boy, her boy...