I do not own or have the rights to "Shadow." The rights and ownership go to Sam Tsui/Kurt Schneider/Whoever Else.
"It's time I ought to be moving on."
It's 3:09 am.
He's been awake for hours.
He hasn't really rested for days, weeks actually.
He just can't sleep.
Every time he closes his eyes, images of her face flash across his mind. Her smile stays imprinted on the back of his eyelids; her laugh echoes within his thoughts. He hears her voice everywhere he goes.
"I bet it looks like I'm not even trying to."
Just this morning, or yesterday morning, he was about to skip breakfast, but her customary lecture on the importance of eating breakfast, if nothing else all day long, suddenly began playing through his head.
And this afternoon, when he was walking to Stein's lecture hour, he could swear he heard her run up behind him, calling his name.
"But somehow you're still standing behind me."
Everything seems to remind him of her.
The moon reminds him that she sat next to him in the Crescent Room.
The healthy grass of the school's small outdoor area brings her bright, earthy green eyes to mind.
Each time he passes the library, he has to suppress the urge to poke his head through the front door; though he sometimes relents and does it anyway, subconsciously praying that he'll find her sitting in her usual spot, a book propped in front of her.
Even when he goes to rev his bike, he thinks of the first time he ever convinced her to sit on the motorcycle, her nervous giggles bouncing through his memory.
He just can't get away from her, no matter where he goes. Her memory lingers like a head ache that won't ease off.
"How long will your memory last?"
"It's always there, too close, too much."
It seems that her memory is strongest in their apartment. Yes, it's still their apartment, even if only the ghosts of her existence still dwell there, and each item in their place holds its own special memory of her.
He paces around the diminutive dwelling, allowing his eyes to wander aimlessly until they settle on the living area.
"Here all alone, my past on the walls."
The coffee table; she always yelled at him for putting his "dirty feet" on its silvery glass surface.
The couch; he couldn't count the number of times he'd come home and found her fast asleep on its plush cushions, her head forward and her chest rising and falling in that easy rhythm it always had.
The TV; she rarely watched television, but, if she did, it was usually some boring documentary she'd make him sit through.
He smiles at the thought of the last one they watched together. It was on the history of jazz music. He hadn't known until a week later, when he found the TV Guide with the program circled in it, that she had planned the viewing ahead of time, just to please him.
She always did cheesy stuff like that, just to put a smile on his face.
Striding to the coffee table, he leans over and lifts a large silver frame that guards the only photo of her he has. The ever-tearful Spirit took all other remnants of her when he came to collect her things a few weeks ago.
"Clear it out just like you've never been."
It's a great shot of her: her eyes are wide and shimmering in the afternoon sun, the emerald and jade within them glistening and gleaming like real gems. Her golden-ash hair is blowing behind her on an unseen breeze, adding life to the image and completely revealing her beautiful features, and her smile…her smile was stunning.
He realizes with a slight twinge of regret that she didn't smile as often as he would have liked. He should have tried to make her laugh more often; he had always loved the way her eyes danced and her white teeth glittered when she smiled at him.
He grins bitterly and mutters to himself, "Stupid angel. You took everything when you left, but you left behind all these shadows" as salty droplets begin to snake down his cheeks.
"When you took it all you forgot your shadow."
Shadow by Sam Tsui