"Why did she leave?"
Heavy head in hands, heart shattered in pieces and scattered on the wind like the shards of glass had been; he questions.
"After everything we suffered through?"
Battle scars still bright on skin, visions of blood flowing like rivers reflect in his eyes; eyes that are mirrors of all which has been witnessed.
"I thought maybe she felt something more."
But it wasn't reflected back clear enough. Not like a mirror. Not like the Mirror she shattered, leaving sharp fragments that cut deeply - far too deeply to be mended.
"She healed every one of my wounds."
Small hands had tenderly wrapped bandages, stopping the flow of pain with their warmth and that of kindness hidden behind a harsh exterior. Harsh like she was at the beginning, and that of her softly agonizing actions at the end.
"But left one so much more painful."
Every shining sunset, shining spirit that left a hollow black pit in what remains of his soul.
"A single tear is all she gave me."
Sparkling like a star, just as her eye glimmered like that of the evening. The evening she went away.
"Not even a full goodbye…"
His voice fades quietly like hers did; words on the breeze, hollow and meaningless now that she has gone – gone while he remained.
"I didn't even have a chance to tell her…"
So many spoken thoughts on the journey, but at the same time, not a single one from the heart. All that had been voiced were shallow and deprived of emotion. All that were deep and ripe with passion had never been said aloud. Never shared with no one – the nothingness of the twilight sky not even witness to the sorrow.
And so he, too, leaves the words of his shattered heart unfinished.
A/N: I had an assignment for a paper which involved Pablo Neruda's poetry. TPHD came to mind while I was thinking of the assignment while at work, so this happened. Meh.
(My copy of TPHD arrived a day early, so I've been playing that to death.)