Missing

I read something this week. A Fanfic. It may be silly, or it may be the hormones...but it made me cry. And it made me remember you.
I'm watching The Green Mile, biting off the nail polish. Bad things happened today, and I feel bad...useless to my Host.
I miss you. Like you have no idea. Every time I feel weak, every time I cry, I wish you were here...around. Close to me.
But you're gone. I don't know if you crossed over, or you found someone else....but I really wish you were still here. I need you to guide me, lead me, tell me what to do. You're missing all the things I wanted to share with you in this new life; my pregnancy, Di, the days when everything's alright.
But I miss you the most when I need you. When things are going wrong, and we shout and cry and the world falls down on us...that's when I need you the most.
I miss you, John.

Borrowing Spaces

I guess you never really knew how much I love you.
I loved you enough to watch you shut yourself from everything and everyone, building walls, perfectly constructed walls around you, like you used to do with the dominoes and cards at the park where we met. Walls I had to break to get to you in the first place.
I never...

I had to watch you slip away, grow cold and distant, silently blaming yourself for everything that happened. If only you had been there, if only you had waited with me...if only.
But fate had different plans for us. We always preached about being strong, being good, wanting to help, and someone thought it would be funny to test just how willing we were to live up to our claims.
Sounds familiar, does it not?
When they told me you were in the hospital after having tried to kill yourself, I felt myself shatter. What could have possibly driven you to that, my love, the man who always saw human life as something sacred? It had been my fault. I had trusted them all a little too much, and you warned me about it.
And then they told me about the cancer.
I laughed.
There was no way...not you. You never did anything that could lead to it, barely even drank coffee in the mornings, let alone drink or smoke. And yet, there it was: colon cancer, evolved into an inoperable front lobe tumor. Your days were counted.
And you took us all down with you.

Now, don't think I hate you. I couldn't, John, you're my heart, my life. You meant everything to me, and I must confess I never lived a truly happy day since our divorce. I needed you to be complete. But you were not yourself anymore.

None of this had to happen, and you know it. You preached about justice, about keeping your heart and your feelings out of this, and yet, what was THIS? Your own personal revenge against everyone who you believed had ruined your life.

None of this had to happen. You didn't have to do anything. In the end, no one was saved, we just crossed paths, and it will be only after death that we will be able to start over.

We had a chance; an opportunity to start again, to leave the past in the past and move on, to be strong and bare the pain, knowing it would soon become nothing more than a memory. But you were too blind to see, to consumed in your own quiet rage against everyone who had "wronged" you, one way or another.
Who's still standing, John? Not me, not you. Not even the ones who still live are ok, they lost everything to your cause. A cause that didn't need to be.
No, I am not blaming you for this. In the end, it was us who decided to stay, to return, to believe...but it lead us nowhere. No one learned, no one was saved, and everybody, in one way or another, died.

Still, here I stand, with my hand outstretched at you.
You were the last thought on my mind, the reason why I didn't feel any pain, or fear in the end. You're the reason I stayed, the reason I'd do it all over again.
You are the love of my life, John. And nothing will ever change that.

Will you now give us a chance to start over?


Jill

A Glass of Water

It was always your simplest request, and yet it was something you needed. A glass of water always helped you feel better, think clearer, stay awake.
Last night, we watched each other die on the screen again, and I didn't let you touch me. You tried to reach out for me again, but this time I turned away. But you didn't let me; instead, you pulled me close and held me tight, then you told me it would be alright this time. I thought I would cry alone, as usual, and then I felt your tears on my hair. Without words, without sound, we cried in each other's arms, and I understood love in its purest form.
After that, we just turned, looked into each other's eyes and smiled, no need for words. Things were back to how they were before, and we would make things right this time around.
I slept in your arms, like a little girl seeking for protection under her father's wing. You're the father I never had, the one thing I always wished for. And as I wrote earlier, I'm not failing you this time.
Last night was perfect. And all because of one simple request.
"Would you...kindly get me a glass of water, Amanda?"
And my question remains the same:
"Do you need anything else?"