Metastases (Part 3)
He sits alone by the side of the water, gazing at the perfect ripples spreading out towards the banks as nature drifts by tranquilly. The light reflected off of the ceaseless pond splays across his face, cautiously illuminating his golden eyes—which, while usually fierce, sharp and alert, are half-closed, slightly diluted and dulled.
In the midst of this peace, a gentle breeze wisps past disarmingly. His blonde hair is tossed up in the wind, and he smiles.
As he casually leans back, partially decomposed leaves crunch softly in conjunction with approaching footsteps.
He doesn't have to turn his head to know who the visitor is, doesn't have to speak to make their presence welcome. The noises drift ever closer until a shadow is cast across him, and he finally looks up.
"Ed..."
He flashes her a gentle smile, a sincere expression not even remotely near that of his aloof grin or sarcastic smirk.
After a quiet moment, she sits down.
The tree stands firm as he leans back against it, hearing the rustling of branches that always accompanies an approaching breeze. The wind swirls by, and he feels hair brushing his face. Immediately he knows that it is not his, but softer, longer, lighter strands of the purest blonde. Without a word, she rests her head against him, content to watch the water as he is.
Their time together is spent in this manner more so than it is in a social environment. Words are nothing but forms of communication; what need is there for them when they speak to each other in so many other ways?
He looks down, gazing upon her face, ignoring the first shiver that always comes when he does so.
An inward chuckle and a resurfacing fact he is not afraid to admit.
He's fallen in love.
Again.
That, however, is not why the shiver comes. The momentary jolt is the result of a cruel twist of fate, a curse and a blessing, a double-edged dagger that has fallen upon him. He is transfixed each time he sees her because he has fallen in love again...
...with the same person.
Or so it would seem, but he knows in his heart that they are two different people. Though he loved the previous first, dearly, and most likely always will, he left her behind by his own will, and there is nothing to be done to change that. Some part of him will always be skeptical, and will always chide himself over the ill-perceived fact that he just loves her now because he loved the other her then. But they are not one and the same, and the one leaned against him now is the one he has chosen. He found her.
She is just as beautiful as her other incarnation, just as sweet and caring, and possibly even more intelligent. So he sits with her, meeting her sparkling blue eyes, watching the water silently.
He has told her little of the other side of his life, the one that came before; even so, she can sense his mixed feelings, and graciously presses herself closer to him.
They sit together by the side of the water, gazing at the perfect ripples spreading out towards the banks and wanting nothing more than to remain where they are.
And when the moment finally does come when it is time to go, they will leave hand in hand.