The Face Of Heaven

Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

If they both closed their eyes and they both held their breath – if they both stopped breathing and just listened to their hearts then they could feel it. The tiny rush that soars through them and reminds them that they are not alone. The rush that dives through every cell and through every thought and tells them one thing

'You are not alone. You are never alone'

She could feel him within her – haunting her mind and tainting her thoughts. He taught her to be brave, to have hope, to fight – he taught her how to live and how to love. He taught her how to lose.

If she closes her eyes tightly enough then it all goes away – the memories, the images painted into her mind turning this world into black and white. If she focused her mind entirely she could forget him, forget it all. She could just be Rose Tyler again. If she fought it hard enough, her heart would stop aching, her voice would stop calling, and her eyes would stop crying. If she believed deeply enough then she could make it go away.

If she looked out over the ocean, or felt the warmth of the sun on her face, if she even smelt the scent of chips in the air from thousands of miles away – she would remember him. She would know his name, know his touch, know his scent and know his face. She would know the truth. The truth of her loss. If she closed her eyes, if she fell into the darkness then it could leave her – it could leave her far behind so that she was nothing. Just a blip. Just a blip on a map that someone walks by and never notices.

If she cried hard enough she saw the stars, pressed against the blackness of her eyelids. The stars which warmed her soul with memories of his face. If she blocked it out hard enough then it all faded away – the wisps of reality that haunted her, the blocks of day to day living that hung in her soul, the emptiness of a lost girl.

Sometimes it was good to let it hurt. Sometimes it was good to cry. Sometimes it was good to lose yourself in the past and the pain which it resurrected. Sometimes it made her wish to have died along side him.

And sometimes, just sometimes, she sat along side his grave. She lay down on the floor. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked up above her. She looked at the sky where a thousand lights shone down over her. The thousand lights that she had visited. He'd taken her to every one. He'd taken her everywhere.

Sometimes she let her hand slip onto the wet grass beside her, where he rested six feet below her. Sometimes she dug her fingers into the grass and pretended it was his hand. That the wet strands were in fact his fingers, clinging to her and soothing her. Sometimes she pretended that she was lying in his arms again and it was his arms that held her and not the cold claws of the night.

Sometimes she looked at the sky and longed to be in that hole beside him.

And sometimes – just sometimes, she saw his face in the stars. Smiling down at her as always, watching over her and waiting for her. Sometimes she thought she knew him – in the wind, in the sky and in the dark. Sometimes she hadn't really lost him – he was all around her.

It was these times that let her live – these times that forced her to rise from the grass, to look at his face in the stars and smile softly. Smiling as she remembered him, smiling as she thought of his hand in hers, smiling as she remembered how to make him proud. Smiling as she knew he angel was watching over her. Forever.

Forever and Always.

Because sometimes, it isn't always that bad.