and i will try to fix you
chapter seven: clouds
The clouds drift lazily above him. He almost envies them. They are unaffected by feelings. They never feel lust, nor passion, nor pain. Clouds simply provide beauty to those who choose to watch them, living their easy, drifting lives. How he longs to be free like them, drifting far above the agonies of the real world, flying away, far away.
Plus, clouds have beautiful names; cirrus, stratus, cumulus…so beautiful. There's poetry up there among the pearly grey or wispy white. Clouds sometimes yield raindrops, snowflakes or hailstones and they are things of beauty. When light bends through a raindrop, creating rainbows, or a snowflake is picked out against black wool or hailstones bounce across the ground, it's a thing of beauty. And when sheets of crackling lightning bounce between the clouds, he's never seen anything so beautiful.
Only one person ever shared his fascination with clouds and now she is gone, through his own stupid faults. He's always been a perfectionist and kept a list of his faults so he could strive to correct. Over time, it's shortened from a total of seventy-two faults when he was fourteen to thirty-seven now, when he's twenty-five. But one fault he's never been able to correct is his big mouth. He's always been truthful and sometimes the truth hurts, right?
But oh, how he wishes he could take back everything he said, those cruel words that flew in venom from his tongue before he could pull himself away from the conflict. The words still stick in his throat, honed to sharp points that pierce the tender skin. He can't fly with the clouds because the weight of what he has done weighs him down.
Fleur is gone, taking her delicate scent and gentle passion and sparkleshimmershine with her. She's gone, leaving behind a locket containing pictures of happier times and leaving a bunch of red roses to die.
Leaving him with nothing but broken dreams and haunted eyes.
Ah yes, how he wishes to join the clouds.
