PHQ-Nickname:
Syndel
Halfquake:
Mania
Level:
74
Total kills:
19,884,443
Birthday:
00th 0000
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| Mood: | awake |
| Type: | Story |
| Added: | October 21st 2012, 20:05:51 |
| Visits: | 1367 |
| Series: | [ The Sycamore ] |
| Rating: | Not rated yet. |
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I had a dream of you last night. All smiles. You had come home - home to me, off a plane. I had worried for so long. It had made me so unhappy, but then you were there with your smile, your energy. You made me feel whole again.
I wake to snowflakes on my brow, a grey fog surrounding me. I sit, I shiver and weep.
I am alone.
In time, curiosity and the cold force me to stand and move, walking through the thick, heavy fog - following a path lined with snowbanks. Snowflakes catch on my hair as I walk, painting me white as the fog.
I come to you. I recognize you instantly, sitting on a bench some distance down my path. I see the pale complexion of your skin, the wide-eye'd stare of life, and that same smile, frozen on your face. Your body is fixed to the bench by the ice that covers you. I stand for some time, just watching. I don't know-, or rather I do not want to know how to reach you. I consider reaching my hand to touch your prison, to free your frozen countenance and hear your voice once more in my ears. Hear the love you once professed.
But I am held back, I withdraw my hand to my side, my face is blank, my expression hollow. Behind you is a tree, leafless and covered in the snow - appearing eerily dead without it's leaves.
"That's what you are..."
It takes me a few seconds to realize the voice I had heard was my own. I walk towards the tree, placing a hand on the bark.
"Life."
I brush the snow from the side of the tree, revealing the hard wooden coating.
"It protects me, this one. It shields me from wrath, it hides me from torment. I know not of the world outside it's walls."
I turn once more, back to my love.
"You... once had rights here. You could touch, I would feel. I would have pulled aside these branches and let you pass. What has become of you now, my love?"
No answer comes from you, but none is expected.
"You are but a memory to me, frozen as I left you, forever in my heart, forever owning this space - these few feet of my soul."
I walk around to face you.
"Are these teardrops in my eyes, or merely the snow of a cold heart? Are these ashes of broken dreams falling from the sky or the cutting shards of what might have been?"
I reach out to you, a fingers breadth away.
"Were I to touch you, would you destroy even this?"
***
The Sycamore stands in solitude,
It's branches my arms,
It's twigs my bones,
It's roots my own,
Other trees may rise,
Other hearts are made,
But for the rest of my life,
Here you will always remain. |
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