The other night, dear, I dreamt I held you in my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and cried. You were my sunshine, my only sunshine, you made me happy when skies were grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I loved you- how could they take my sunshine away?

Today she breaks, on the subway she sees someone-

Someone who brings up too many memories. Only bears a passing resemblance, but it's still too much. Too much, too soon. Too fucking soon.

Shouldn't have died so soon.

She comes home, and remembers why she decided they wouldn't have big knives in their house. Because of days like this. And she misses, she misses fearing for her life not from herself, but from the choices she followed because she followed love- she followed his ideal. His kind of justice. Followed it, did everything for it.

And yet she doesn't fear for her life at all, even though she's standing here with the bottle of pills in her hand, cap off and on the counter, because she thinks- she knows- her life was stolen the same day her love was. Same day her bright, shining future was taken.

And her one friend, the one who understands despite all the conflict and all the bloodshed- he slams the door open and sees her, shaking, collapse on the floor. He wonders what to do, doesn't take the kind of immediate action expected, simply because he is the one that understands her. Life is sacred, but this is not life. Still, he comes to hold her like he always does, to let her know once again that she isn't alone.

And she hurts oh-so-much worse, because she remembers that day again, in flashes of bright shining light like her bright shining Light and his bright shining future and how it's all been covered in dirt. His body, buried. Future, buried. Hope, buried. All in one coffin in one place in the ground. The place she knew she'd already lost her life.

And now, soon, she'll lose even pretense of it. They'll bury her next to him, she hopes. Maybe…

She's flickered out. Even the brightest stars fall.

As he cradles her body, he cries. He'd never been one for crying- of course, he was also determined to live. And yet, and yet, he'd considered something completely contradictory to that in so many eyes too many times, and she'd enacted it. Not a survivor. A liver. Not just a breather and a drinker and an eater, but someone human and alive and determined to blind the world with brilliance. Neither of them could do that any more, because that required someone-

not broken. Not so damn shattered, not so cracked.

Wasn't his fault they smashed everything up.

Why so much bloodshed? He can't ask why for the latest casualty- he knows why. But why is the world so cruel? What did this even start with?

And he remembers another thing that sends daggers through his body. How they'd argue about God and faith and damnation and salvation and humanity and all that shit so regularly.

How could fate be so cruel as to steal these lives? So many? How could a loving God do this?

But he'd get a response. You need the pain to find the love. You need the dark to see the light. You need incompletion to recognize wholeness. It's all part of something bigger, because this suffering is only the darkness needed for every masterpiece. Shine on 'til tomorrow. You have to believe that.

What if today's the end of the fucking world? What if there is no tomorrow?

Because it sure as hell feels like tomorrow's not coming any time soon. The bodies are piled up so high none of those left can even see the sun, and there used to be flowers but they're stained with blood now and he knows whose.

Where's the salvation here? Seems like there's no tomorrow and seems like this is nothing but endless revenge and suffering and hatred.

He remembers in one of the old stories, it's just blood and blood and more blood until some god steps in and offers forgiveness. Doesn't look like that's going to happen, not that it could. There's going to be nobody left to forgive.

He hates that he can understand so well why she's gone. He hates that she left him here. He hates, he hates, he hates, but there's one thing he hopes.

He hopes she's finally safe.

---

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. I didn't write You Are My Sunshine or Let It Be.