Crash!
The sound of glass brought their world crumbling down. A feeble existance brought to the minds of the boy and girl as they huddled in fear of the falling debris. Precious heirlooms and china fall onto the hardwood floors. Vases and the flowers in them, all tumble across the floor.
Their love could move mountains.
Their hate could shake the earth.
Mallory couldn't hear him call her name. For all Jeremy knew, she probably couldn't forget what he had said before. With those hateful and harsh words he pierced into her soul in the hopes to hurt her. He wished he could take it back.
Especially when he saw the bookcase start to topple.
the painful realization that has all gone wrong.
And nobody cares at all,
and nobody cares at all.
"We are gathered here on this day..."
Odd how those words can start the best day of your life, or consummate your worst nightmare.
The headstone read his beloved's name. He let the tears fall, a silent protest to the freak accident he managed to surivive. Mallory's mother stood next to him, watching her child's body lowered into the ground. Lowered into the very same earth that took her away.
And he wanted it to be him, but could that make a difference? The fact was that he wasn't dead was killing him inside. He had to live with this, the memory of her and her scent in all the rooms.
He couldn't stand it.
and burned the letters lover wrote,
but it doesn't make it any better.
Does it make it any better?
And the plaster dented from your fist
in the hall where you had your first kiss
reminds you that the memories will fade.
Jeremy is pulling t-shirts off hangers and throwing dressers of garments on the floor. They lie in piles, a mess like that night. What had they done to each other?
They had made themselves dependant, too close to the other to function alone. He was too buried in his sorrow to function. He didn't want to be alone.
He tore off the last sweater, her favorite piece of clothing, and held it close to his chest. Was it hate? Anger?
The hatred made him want to tear himself apart.
our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance
where nobody leads at all,
where nobody leads at all.
"Couldn't you fucking listen for once?!" she told him from across the room.
"Mallory, I don't want to talk about this."
"You never do!"
"Well it's because you bring it up all the fucking time! How am I going to even think about marrying you if you just can only talk about the same damn thing?!"
"You," she paused, and the pain in her eyes showed, "don't want to marry me?"
"Mallory..."
And the earth shook.
and the ringing from this empty sound
is deafening and keeping you from sleep.
And breathing is a foreign task
and thinking's just too much to ask
and you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.
"Mallory..."
And the fire burned. The scent of gasoline smelled better than her perfume to him. He was somehow satisfied that he had burned every stitch of anything they had had together. It was this realization that made him sick, too sick and tired of feeling human. He hated feeling remorse.
Because of him, they were dead. Because of their mistake, he had been forced to marry.
He didn't want to marry her.
Starving, insatiable,
yes, this is love for the first time.
Well you'd like to think that you were invincible.
Yeah, well weren't we all once before we felt loss for the first time?
Well this is the last time.
The pressure on his heart wasn't that of a lost love, it was regret. He felt sorry that he was let off the hook for his mistake. Their mistake.
A tiny photo was held in his hand, black and white, looking somewhat like static on a television. He looked down on it, the picture making his heart wrench.
A sonogram, this photo. His son, now gone. All only a memory of what no one else knew, that he had screwed up.
That he was not in any of this for love, but for obligation.
At least he should have been able to pay for it somehow.
I like messages and ratings...
'ello.
