Madoka always had a notebook with her. It was a small notebook, dirty, worn, and ripped in many places but a notebook nonetheless. It was a pastel pink color with a plain cover, one that made it seem odd that such a bright girl would have such a plain treasure.
Because thats what the notebook was, a treasure. One that was held dearly, shown by the amount of times Madoka would flip languidly through the pages. A smile wider than what should ever be seen settled on her face. She would panic when she could not find the notebook. A frown, almost as big as the smile when she held the book, settled on her face. Speaking of such loss and pain.
It hurt Homura to see her like that, so she'd always be the one finding the notebook and returning it to her friend. Mind consumed with curiosity but happy to see the lighting of Madoka's eyes as she registered the plain cover of her notebook. The same words spoken everytime through a flash of worry, gleaming. "Did you look inside Homura-chan?" The words were polite as always, spoken through an optimistic voice but Homura would look and say, "No," not that it was a lie. She never dared look. Not daring to intrude upon Madoka's privacy and too worried of that gleaming in Madoka's eyes to become brighter as she began to distrust Homura.
But it felt like a lie. Because Homura wanted to look, wanted to know what could bring such a wide smile to Madoka's face.. What could make the fire that ever burned within Madoka ever brighter. Because she seemed so lost...and so so torturously miserable without that book. Almost lost, with a dull expression and shaded eyes. Her optimistic friend. The one that made her own eyes light up in happiness. What could make her so happy? Why did she always smile?
Because in their life Homura couldn't understand. The torture. The plain despair was so easy to succumb to...why was Madoka not affected?
….and she cried. Oh, how she cried when Madoka was gone. Her wails turning into hiccups. Her hiccups turning into sobs, so low and so quiet that she felt like a walking corpse. The tears streamed, never stopping and she hated it. Hated feeling weak. Hated how Madoka wasn't there. Hated how her own personal sunshine was gone and she freaked.
Punching a wall did nothing, while the sobs continued as if she were dying and she collapsed, but collapsing did nothing to staunch her sadness. Collapsing only brought about the pain of seeing the plain treasure under her sunshine's bed. And she cried even harder. Choking and suffocating. While her hands reached out.
And she wailed, loud and long, her hands shaking as the notebook dropped. Pain erupting as her hair was tugged by her own hands. Because she finally knew why Madoka never stopped smiling, and why her face was always tugged into a puppet's grin. Why her eyes betrayed a bittersweet feeling of melancholy. Why the notebook was a treasure. Why she panicked and looked lost when it was gone.
Because Madoka had been the worst off. Seeing her friends die over and over again while she remained smiling. Not because she was happy. How could she have been? Being forgotten by all those she treasured. Dying over and over and over again. Until she was nothing but an entity. Something to be treasured but never remembered. Something that gave so much but gained so little, and Homura wailed once more. Her eyes gleaming with the tears that fell like droplets onto the pages.
There were pages of scribbed words and pictures. Smily faces and drawing. Stick figures that looked so lifeless but seemed so alive at the same time. Writing that seemed so rushed, with tear drops blurring the words but smiles that burned the memory because there were lists and lists and lists that made Homura want to curl into a ball.
Bright words that made her sob because Madoka needed this. Madoka didn't know how to live without it. Because Madoka was broken. Was despairing. Because Madoka needed this notebook. And it was painful. So so painful to know that her sunshine needed her own sunshine and it was painful to know she hadn't known. She could never have imagined and she imagined Madoka's face. Her last memory being Madoka smiling so wide. Her eyes gleaming with tears as her last breath was gasped out.
Because Madoka couldn't smile so happily. She couldn't smile at all. Without this little notebook. The worn, ragged treasure that Madoka loved telling her why to smile.