Sam and Dean Winchester belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me.
Memories of Angkor Wat
I found you outside Leningrad; asleep in the snowy field. Your face, a crystalline mask of glittering shards, was white and still; your lips so blue. Your eyelashes traced a sparking path, resting on the cold, quiet skin.
I am so sorry you died alone. I would rather have been here when your last breath coalesced and fell as frost upon your cheek, but I ran and hid from the German guns upon the battlefield, selfishly deciding to live in hope of finding you again.
But here you are, gone on without me.
Please, no more snow, no more black, freezing nights under a sky alive with the cruelest stars of all. They are so sharp, so clear, no comfort there. I crave the summer skies, wrapped in your arms beside the pulsing sea.
Do you remember Angkor Wat, my love? We climbed the winding stair, our fingers tracing out the sacred carvings, as the jungle birds flew above us, screaming out their names. Panting and sweating we finally reached the top of Mount Meru, the sacred mountain, and Vishnu allowed us rest
I will lie here beside you with my head upon your quiet breast and wait for the snow and cold to take me with you. I promise I will not leave. We will be a single, frozen sculpture; asleep upon the blood drenched ground.
When we awake again, let it be in grassy fields. A yellow sun, rolling through the sky will warm our naked skin. No more cold, no more touch of frost. Leave the memory of bloody snow only in our fevered dreams
So we travel through time together, always finding one another, bound together in an eternal love, reflected in each other's eyes.
Now I will sleep in winter's embrace and wait for better days.