Hello there my little puddle ducks!
First of all, i want to apologise for how long it has taken me to update this story. I just haven't seemed able to find the right way to finish my little story (it still isn't quite there). Waiting for my GCSE results isn't helping.. i am seemingly too nervous to sit down and concentrate on writing. I didn't want to mess up the ending, so i thought that it was best to just wait until i knew what i wanted to write. So, i am sorry that it has taken this long, but i hope you understand.

On with the story.. I hope you enjoy :)

Of Many Things
Chapter Thirty Two

July 23rd 2013

Time is a very strange thing indeed. Minutes can feel like days, years can pass by in what appears to be a matter of seconds. Looking back you are often shocked to realise how long ago an event happened. Waiting in anticipation makes the world pass by slower than you ever thought possible. Time. The one constant that the whole world shares, and yet, to every single person in the universe it can mean something completely different. Time can be the most precious thing you have; time spent with your family and friends, time spent doing the things you love most. To others, it can be a punishment of the worst kind. A life sentence; each day dragging by a little slower than the last. All you want is for your time to be up, but it keeps on ticking by. Then there are the people that do not even consider time to be a factor. Living each day as it comes; screw the consequences and simply have as much fun as you can.
Time, Patrick Jane thought, didn't even feel like a real thing anymore. As he lay in bed on the night before the second anniversary of his beloved Teresa Lisbon's death, his mind had wandered to an obscure array of places. Memories of the three beautiful people who he had loved most in the world; who he still did love. The first time he had met each one, and the last time he ever had the honour of being with them. To his own murky past; the darkest days he had faced, and the struggle that simply staying alive had sometimes seemed. And then to the realisation that the past two years had all become a little of a blur to him. He couldn't really pin point anything in particular that had happened. It wasn't that he didn't remember them, because he did, it was more the time frame that seemed jumbled. When had the all encompassing pain lessoned on his heart? When had he been able to walk the streets without every sight reminding him of the loss he felt? When had he decided to start living again, rather than just existing in a state of mindlessness? Patrick Jane, usually so clear on every tiny detail, had absolutely no idea how he ended up where he was today. And where was that exactly? Tonight he found himself alone in a clammy attic. The moonlight flitted through the gap between the slightly crumbling wall and the tattered curtains. His neck ached from the lack of a pillow. The ever present scent of tea seemed stronger than it usually did. At a glance he appeared to be a heartbroken man. Alone and forgotten in a dingy attic of the CBI building. To anyone who could only see him as the man he was this very moment would see the bags under his eyes and pure exhaustion written across his still handsome features. They would wonder why he couldn't sleep, and why he had instead spent hours thinking about the oddity of time. But they would be wrong. Patrick Jane wasn't any of those things. He wasn't lonely. He wasn't wracked by insomnia. He wasn't drifting back into the depths of depression. Because although he couldn't remember exactly when it had happened, it didn't change the fact that Patrick Jane had brought himself back from the black hole in which he had been left. Losing Lisbon had felt like nothing he had ever experienced before. It wasn't the same as Angela and Charlotte, who had been so violently stolen from him. Whose deaths were on his hands. Whose blood would forever be scorched into his memory. He hadn't felt guilt and a need for revenge. It wasn't his fault this time. It was a different kind of loss. Saying goodbye, it helped more than he ever thought possible. To know that Lisbon had been in his arms as she died. Surrounded by love and warmth and happiness. It made it easier somehow. To know that the last breath she took was alongside his own. This time Jane had picked himself up and proved that life was still worth living. That he still had the ability to feel hope, and love. Tomorrow would bring about the end of his second year of life without Lisbon. And although his heart broke a little more each time he thought of a lifetime without her, it was also mended again by the hope of having a future of his own. Patrick Jane had learnt that there was a big difference between being alone, and being lonely. The love of his life had been torn from his grasp, but he still had people who loved and cared for him. He still had a life beyond the grief. Tomorrow would be a celebration of life. The memories they all shared of Teresa Lisbon, and the future that they faced without her. Tomorrow Patrick Jane would start a new life, one that had taken him two years to build. A life he couldn't wait to share with the wonderful people who had helped him along the way. And it was with that thought that Jane realised it didn't even matter that those two years had seemingly jumbled into rather a mess of uncertainty, because he knew now that this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Okay, there we have it.
What did you think? Please let me know.. as i am not too sure myself.

Thank you for reading. I hope to have the last couple of chapters up within a few days.. but if it is a little longer please stick with me.
Katie xx