Work Text:
[white roses]
the wind blows,
and the graveyard is empty,
(everyone has long gone,
but you);
her grave looks cold,
even with the rays of the sun beating on the stone.
it doesn't feel real,
to watch the leaves move,
to hear bells jingle,
and to feel the sting of tears on your cheek.
it isn't real,
you think,
seeing her name ingraved in rock,
seeing the flowers left in her name.
(you have seen them,
watched the roses being placed;
seen the white petals get stained with the ground,
seen the white petals wilt with all sun and no water.)
your heart still disagrees,
despite all the signs,
despite the warnings your mind gives,
saying;
"she is gone,
gone to join her friends."
you follow your heart,
as she always told you to do.
--
one morning you wake up,
look to the other side of the bed,
and think about why she died.
the question rolls in your head,
yet nothing you can think of made sense;
every answer you came up with,
still felt unsatisfactory.
she had left you,
with no warning,
she could have called for help,
but she didn't.
and you are angry at her,
for not calling out,
for staying put and fighting,
for risking her life,
all for one small victory.
you want to call out,
ask why she left,
why the one person who understood you,
would leave.
but even as your angry sobs fill the room,
there is no response,
only your echoed wails fill the house,
only your angry screams hit the walls.
she is not here to help,
not here to answer your questions.
--
you beg,
some days;
whispers of trades,
all for the safe return of her.
your pleads of money,
(of lives,
of your life),
of your own wellbeing are disregarded.
no one can help,
no one can understand,
not even the will of the honkai can,
they can't listen to you,
they can't help.
no one can help,
but maybe if you pleaded harder,
pressed your hands together a little tighter every night,
there may be a chance.
--
you're tired,
tired of being sad,
of being in a world without her.
she hasn't come back,
no matter what you do,
and all you have left of her is a few pictures,
and a grave you visit weekly.
you wear her clothes daily,
hug the pillow she used,
but it never feels right,
it never helps.
you take walks,
let everyone visit,
but they don't (can't) understand,
how you'd space out,
staring at any random thing.
(they don't understand,
that you think of hua;
you see the same ice cream stand,
and you think of her.
you felt like crying after,
and you did.)
without her,
you don't see the world;
you sob away your loss,
every night,
hugging her pillow.
--
one day,
you had stopped,
stopped crying.
you still missed,
still saw her in every bit of your day;
from the gauntlets that sit on your table,
to the feather on your necklace,
(the one she gifted you,
the opposite to her necklace).
but when you saw them,
you didn't feel like crying,
didn't feel like you couldn't do anything.
she is gone,
has been gone for a while now,
and now you accept that.
you still see her face,
the various pictures you took of her proof,
and just sometimes you can hear her soft voice,
whispering or laughing at something you have done.
she is everywhere,
but at the same time nowhere.
she is the air you breathe,
and the wind you feel.
the water that satisfies your thirst,
and the food you eat to sate your hunger.
she is everything,
and everywhere.
you just had to look.