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He can feel her within everything that has ever been, or once was.
He feels her in the small leaf that would fall from the tree, in the wind that would tousle his hair, in the reflection of the moon in the water.
She is but a reflection of herself within his memories, but the feelings he’s held for her all this time have never faded once, and he doubts they will ever.
Maybe it was a blessing at first. To be so close to her, to experience all that she is to him despite the distance between them. But good things do not last long, and within time he finds himself trying to sever her ties to his soul with aching hands.
He takes every bit of memorabilia, and stores it in a cardboard box under his bed. To be forgotten.
He feels guilty; he is not deserving of her. And even then, she’s still so inexplicably close to him. The shame tugs at his heart, taunting him.
To his dismay, he begins to see her in his dreams. He sees her with that sweet smile, and he notices the light in her starry eyes is the same as it was all those years ago. She hasn’t changed, even in his decaying mind. The tears well up, steadily.
She gazes at him with a loving warmth, and he finds himself unable to move, afraid that she is only an illustration. Created only to be seen, and nothing more.
She calls his name, and at the very moment he reaches out for her hand, she disappears, leaving nothing but mist in her place.
No matter what step he takes every other night, hoping, praying, for a better outcome, he finds himself alone.
Just like how he had wanted, right?
Every night, he dreams the same dream; the curl of her soft lips, and her glistening twilight eyes- and her evanescence that remains prevalent in every dream. Inevitably, every time, she disappears into thin air, leaving nothing for him behind.
The years go by, slowly, and her spectre fades. Every trace of her has eventually diminished and died, and her warmth dissipates into a freezing cold.
No longer does he dream, finding himself in an inky abyss every time he closes his eyes. She was his lifeline, and now he finds himself falling deeper, unable to claw his way to the surface.
But it’s his fault, isn’t it? How shameless must he be, missing her after disappearing from her life?
He wonders how she is, how she has aged. Has her hair grown, has she cut it? He wishes he was a little kid again, spending every day with her as if time was only a concept.
The clock ticks by, seemingly endlessly, and he feels himself turn to stone, his blood scratching at his veins. He rummages through the box under his bed, his fingers trembling.
His heart thumps deeper into his chest.
Truly, he is a man undeserving.
Clutching her photo in his pale hands, he hopes she blames him. He does not deserve mercy nor forgiveness, yet he would still fall to his knees and beg her to forgive him for all of eternity.
The tears soak his sleeves, and he finds himself unable to prevent the bitter taste of it on his tongue. He whimpers her name like a prayer, and begs any god out there to spare him; to grant a dying man one last chance.
He would do anything. Anything at all, to see her one last time. Before the disease finally claims him.