Yup. Another one, finally. Stanzas from Sonnet XXX.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Like Hell it did. Who ever said that certainly hadn't been without someone they loved for very long.
Absence did not make the heart grow fonder. All it did was dull the few memories one had. Make it seem as though he had just been dreaming, those years. And he most certainly had not dreamt those beautiful years with Remus. He couldn't have. His subconscious would never have visualized him in such bliss as he was then.
A pang of remorse hit Sirius in the chest, pressing so hard he could scarcely breathe. He should still have been with his precious Moony. Should still be holding him in his arms. Should still be happy.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.
Oh, Merlin, he missed him. Missed gazing into deep, sparkling eyes. Missed lacing his fingers through sandy locks. Missed caressing soft white skin, tenderly tracing his fingers over pink and purple scars. He just missed... everything.
That was his problem, Sirius realized. He always wanted what he couldn't have. Always. He'd wanted acceptance from his family. And he'd learned to live without that. He'd wanted a peaceful life at school. And it turned out to better without it. Remus was just another desire. An aching desire, pulsing, burning, fiercely within him. But that fire could not be quenched.
Then can I drown an eye unused to flow
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancelled woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.
He inhaled slowly, pursing his lips, as though sucking a straw. His eyes fluttered shut, freeing the flow of salt and water that had lingered there for what seemed like days. It could only have been a few minutes, maybe hours, the prisoner reminded himself, but the passage of times was nothing to him.
What did he care if he cried for days or weeks or months or even years? He shouldn't care at all. The overabundance of sorrow scarcely made up for the lack of joy in his pathetic life. But at least he could feel. Sirius could not imagine being numb, not like the others he knew were locked away in Azkaban, as well.
Absence of feeling was a double-edged sword, he decided. To feel nothing would be to forget, to never have to think on losing Remus and James and Lily again. But to forget would be to bereave him of precious memories, the very essence that sustained him. Living in the past – that wondrous past – was the only life he had left, and even a condemned man was loath to let it go.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
Everyday, Sirius chose to hold fast on to his emotions, his sorrow. He had nothing else left, and he would be damned if he lost his last connection with love. Absence of love may have made him miserable, but it verified his existence. If he could still mourn, still remember with painful clarity everything he and Moony had ever done together, he was still alive.
And not even he was hopeless enough to long for death. The sole thing left that wanted him, he cast out with repugnance. It was not his time to go yet. That much he knew.
And so, Sirius let his tears flow freely, sparkling faintly in the dim light. With every fiber of his being, he recalled every last moment he had ever spent with his dearest werewolf. He sobbed silently, sometimes thinking the pain too much to bear. But, nonetheless, he continued his mental journey.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
At last, he smiled weakly, falling into a deep sleep, remembering warm nights long past. And he could have sworn he was happy.