Work Text:
It was a day in Spring when you died.
The ground was soft from rain, and supple to walk on.
Your grave was easy to dig; even in death, you were never much of a troublemaker.
It was always me, the bad kid. You following up behind me with apologies.
I think you paid me back this time.
You once smelled like rain on concrete. Now you feel like wax.
You wrote I'm sorry. You're sorry?
I rip up your note with your shaky handwriting. Then I pick up every piece and cradle them into my chest.
I have a funeral for the note, one you would have liked. Oblivion by fire.
The Vikings would have been proud, of our little funeral. Burning what could have been. What should have been.