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Derek had been gone for a week. He always did in this time of year. He has to get away from the pain, from the memories. I’d like to think that he’ll be coming home. But I don’t think he will. We tried, we really did. We had each other and we thought it was enough. Sadly it wasn’t, it isn’t. Now I feel more alone than I ever did, as I wait for him to come back, not knowing that he actually will.
At first we travelled the world. Discovered a thousand new things, and saw what we never thought we would. It felt a little cowardly, to run like that, but we had no choice. We travelled for years, keeping a façade of happiness. And hell, for a minute there, maybe we were, but it couldn’t last long. We came back to Beacon Hills, a town we couldn’t call a home anymore, so we moved up north, away from everything. Before we left, I said goodbye to my father, promising him I’ll be good. And to my brother, promising I’ll never forget. My promises would be buried with them, in the ground in which they lay. I took one last turn before leaving the cemetery, feeling like dad and Scott’s tombstones were staring at me.
Derek and I lived here for a while. In the wilderness we both loved so much. But our love wasn’t always enough for us to go on living our lives. I almost feel like we’re growing apart. But that’s OK in a way. We lived so much together. Like a million lifetimes of love, except this lifetime has to end, so maybe we can start another one, a simpler one. Because I know we’ll meet again.
I walk down the stream in the forest by our cabin. To my chest I hold a piece of paper; in my hand a knife. I don’t think I’ll be able to go on, and neither will he. But maybe he can come to lie besides me, and I’ll wait for him, one last time, my protector.