Have you ever felt homesick? That tugging
at your heart, gently pulling you and
telling you that this is not where you belong,
you belong at home. When your dreams are
the only place you ever feel safe because you
dream of home. You crave to feel something
in this new place; you long for that haven of
warmth and love.
She was my Haven.
She was the one who got away to anyone she
touched in life. The kind of girl who draws you
like a magnet; you'd do anything for just one
more second with her. She was the kind of girl
that only comes around once, a comet. And
once she passed by, it was all you could do
to not fall apart at the memory of her sheer,
blazing beauty.
She could have had them all. But she had me.
I can't say I ever knew why she made her choice.
Sometimes, I wish she hadn't. I wished this comet
had passed by; that my longing to see her once
more was not quenched. That she was a fading
scent on the wind; barely perceivable, but
consuming your every sense; intoxicating.
But instead, she was mine.
On those long desert nights, my face buried in
her hair, getting drunk off of her scent, we
would talk in hushed voices; talking so quietly,
like if we spoke any louder we would both
shatter into a million pieces.
"You're not meant for this world," I'd breathe
into her ear, burying my face against her.
"Angels never are."
She was mine to love.
Her crystalline laughter would fill the air,
her brazen eyes softening. "That is the most
sickly sweet thing I've ever heard," she
snickered. "I might just gag."
Refusing to break the mood, I'd pull her
back, nuzzling into her neck. "I mean it,"
I insisted, pressing my lips against her
collarbone. "You're...ethereal."
She was mine to cherish.
You never realize just how many colors are in the world until they're gone. The golden, shimmering sand of the desert; the piercing, unending blue of the vast sky on a perfect day. Even dull, grey days have color; the color of the rain dancing on everything, setting it alight with color.
Grief isn't a simple line of events. There aren't seven stages. There are hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of stages. There's the stage when you realize you'll never feel her fingers between yours again. When you realize you'll never get to share your day with her. When you realize just how very empty her side of the bed is.
She was mine to save.
But sometimes you forget. You get so wrapped up in an emotion- you'll find that object she was searching so long for. A lost necklace; a book she longed to read again. You'll perk up, brimming with excitement to show her, spinning around and right before you shout her name- it hits you harder than you ever thought possible. The air is forced from your lungs, the color drips from the world, and you're alone again.
But I couldn't save her.
If you had met Vegas two years ago, you'd be overwhelmed by her energy; she seemed to liven the room with electricity just by walking in. Her eyes burned with passion and a competitive drive unmatched by anyone. Never one to turn down a challenge, Vegas had more than a handful of wild stories, ranging from skinny dipping to chugging an entire handle of liquor, to losing hundreds of dollars gambling. She was a wild spirit, with such fire in her eyes, she could set you alight with a single glance.
If you met Vegas today, you would think the rumors circling of her electric nature were misplaced; nothing but tall tales. You'd see a forlorn Kalon, eyes dull and burnt out. Rather than electrifying the room, she would darken it, like a thunderstorm rolling in; clouds drifting in front of the sun, casting shadows across the ground. With her head held low, she'd pace through the room on silent feet, all energy and fire long burnt out.
Vegas never liked to hold grudges. She was a firm believer in forgiveness- partially due to all the Kalons she'd rubbed the wrong way in the past. She hated to dislike a Kalon and always tried her hardest to appease anyone she met. Even the rudest Kalons wouldn't push her cheerful disposition away. However, despite her efforts, she managed to acquire one grudge through her life.
"Do you believe in an afterlife?"
Vegas didn't reply at first, the
question bouncing around in her head.
"I've never really thought about it,
I guess."
Haven frowned, her face scrunching
up slightly. She tore her eyes from the
clouds to meet Vegas's.
"Even after all those stunts, all those
near-death experiences, you never even
considered what might happen...after?"
Vegas snorted, rolling over to push her
face into Haven's soft fur.
"Why does it matter? We're so young;
we still have forever to think about
those things," she smiled, "It's better
to live in the moment, y'know?"
Haven didn't meet her eyes, but
smiled nonetheless.
"You are so cheesy, I can't even
handle it sometimes..." she trailed
off. "But, really, do you think there's
something waiting for us?"
Vegas frowned slightly, hearing the
tone in her voice. Underneath the
casual demeanor, Haven sounded worried.
"I don't know, I really don't.
Maybe- I, I mean- I hope so? Why?"
She nudged Haven until she met her eyes.
"I..." Haven trailed off again, eyes
darting to the side, shimmering
slightly. "I'm just...scared."
"Scared of dying? What made you
so scared, Hav?"
Haven's eyes seemed to suddenly
overflow with tears, spilling down
her cheeks and soaking into her fur.
"I was at the doctor this morning."
Vegas stayed silent, unsure of what
to do or how to process what she
was hearing.
"I don't know how to say it," she
breathed, barely a whisper, tears
still streaming down her face.
"They said if they'd caught it sooner,
then maybe..."
Vegas's head spun, vision blurring,
and she began to tremble. "Babe-
babe, what are you-"
"I'm dying, Ve."
Recovery isn't forgetting the one you loved. The pain of their death never lessens; it never really stops hurting. But eventually, you learn to cope. You learn that you can live without them, even if your heart doesn't think it's possible.
At first you're angry. Angry that they could possibly leave you all alone; to have the burden of exploring the world without them by your side. You begin to hate them, you curse their name, you destroy their things. You hold a single, fiery grudge to their name. But, like everything, eventually: the anger fades away and you're left with a sinking feeling of guilt.
Over this last agonizingly long year, I've often wondered what I would do differently. Maybe, if things had gone another path, she would still be here with me. What tiny, minute actions had a butterfly effect leading to her death. How I could intercept it, and save her.
Of course, in doing this, I wasn't coping. I refused to accept her death; it was almost like, if I tried hard enough, I could bring her back. Like I could turn back time. Like I could save her.
At a certain point, acceptance hits you. You're scheming, meticulously fingering through the months leading up to the event, searching for that white whale you've been dying for. And then it hits you all at once. It washes over you like a thick, foamy wave of ocean water, chilling you to the bone. She's not coming back; you can't save her.
Before that moment, she hardly felt dead. It was like a puzzle you needed to solve; if you picked your brains enough, suddenly she would be there with you. Acceptance was like losing her all over again.
But, despite it all, eventually, you learn to cope. Finding her hair tie doesn't send you into a manic spiral; passing by her old house doesn't overwhelm you with despair. You can feel her tugging at your heart, and you remember her fondly with an ache in your chest. But you cope.
by Hinoka » Mon Feb 13, 2017 5:17 pm 
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