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Not for the first time and never for the last, Clive finds himself standing in front of the carved stone that stands in place of a man who could never be captured by any monolith. Silently, he stares up at the carving etched into the rock. It wasn’t enough. None of this was enough. It would never be enough.
Cid’s grave was rarely, if ever, without a gift or trinket. Almost every person who had ever come in contact with the man and survived today visited at least once, each leaving their own little gift. A flower, a cigarette, a bauble, words, tears. All left at the altar of a man who died for what he believed in.
Clive clenches his fists and breathes deep, taking a step closer, almost close enough to touch the cold, grey, stone.
“It’s so quiet without you.”
His voice almost startles him, low and almost tight. It is the feeling in his throat as the sound rumbles from him that pushes him over a precipice he wasn’t aware he was on.
“There is so much noise, so much sound. Everyone is busy building our new home. I think you would be proud of how far we have come in so little a time. Otto is a blessing,” Clive chuckles, “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Swallowing, Clive stares in silence again for a moment or two.
“But it’s still so quiet. I keep expecting to hear you down the hall or in a room as I pass. Your laugh, a flippant comment, that casual encouragement you were so good at.” Clive’s voice shakes, “I can’t help but look for you around every corner. It isn’t even the place you built, but I feel you everywhere.”
Clive takes another step closer.
“They look to me, Cid. You knew they would, didn’t you?” Clive unclenches his fist and carefully reaches out, “I won’t let you down. No matter what, I’ll see to it that the world you dreamed of becomes a reality. I will. I swear it. But–” Clive’s fingers finally graze against the stone.
“It’s too quiet without you.” his voice shakes, volume dropping, “I don’t want to do this without you. I want you here, next to me, smoking too much, talking too much, touching too much.”
Clive’s voice catches, chokes, comes out wet.
“I miss you.”
Slowly, he sits, hand sliding down the stone until he is on his knees and the dias of a shrine to a man who was becoming myth, a figure that would be spoken of for a long time to come, remembered in infamy for some, revered to others. Clive leans forward, touches his head to cold stone, a pale replacement for a warmth he would never truly know.
With shaking shoulders, Clive leaves his solemn gift.