The love that he and I shared was truly similar to this wonderland in the woods. It was a love much like winter.
It used to be why I came up here every year.
A bird rests on a nearby tree, and the limb breaks under the added pressure, collapsing into the perfect blanket of snow below. He was a lot like that bird. Going to me and adding more pressure when I didn't need it, breaking me worse than anyone else. I wanted him to myself. He just wanted to fuck.
This cold wonderland of ice and snow used to have such meaning. It still would if he had listened. I remember the first time I brought him out here; so we could breathe the fresh air, get out of the studio. So we could be alone. That's all I ever wanted, for it to just be him and I. But now I'm freezing out here alone, unable to find the energy to destroy this perfect world around me. Because nothing deserves to be perfect, not even him.
I know for a fact that if I got up and into the cabin everything would be fine. I would leave in a week on schedule and it would be like I never left. But that doesn't stop me for wanting to stain the white shiny substance that surrounds me in crimson. To paint it in warm red. Perfection is overrated, I just wish I could tell my younger self that. To tell my younger self he was bad news, to not deal with him.
The love that he and I shared was truly similar to this wonderland in the woods. It was a love much like winter; where it started out warm and happy, and slowly things began to die and pieces fell from their places just like leaves. Soon enough the snow and ice came and gave us a facade of perfection, but when the sun came out and melted that away, all that was left was our dead relationship, broken beyond repair.
He had known it was going to fall apart from the beginning, or at least he acted like it. I wanted it to last. I believed in what we had so much that I wanted nothing more than to have him back. When we were through, I realized how hard it is to live without your other half. It's hard, but not impossible. Though sometimes I wish it were.
According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. I know this is wrong, because if it were true, then he would have stayed. He WAS my other half, but I wasn't his. Maybe I'm meant to find my other half, but I don't think looking will help when nothing will ever change the fact that I love him more than I'll ever love anyone.
My friends were right when they said he was bad for me. That I took things too hard with him. When he was around I was happier than I could even dream to be. But, when he left I felt the urge to destroy other people's lives as payback. And where has that gotten me?
Alone in a forest miles from civilization, buried in a foot of snow, looking up at a prestein white world that I wish I could destroy.
The books are wrong. Money doesn't make you happy. Fame doesn't make everything better. People will always just be people, even if you idolize them.
I wonder how long it would take me to die in this cold. How long it would take for someone to find my body. Who would come to my funeral. Who would cry. How many would wish it didn't happen. But really, that's because I'm trying not to wonder if he would come, if he would cry. If he would wish we didn't happen. No matter how hard I try, he will always mean more to me than anyone else. He'll always be my everything, and I know that my thoughts will always end on him.
His laugh, his eyes, his smile. The way his voice sounds when he wants it rough. The way his eyes shine like a kid in a candy store after finishing a set. His laugh when we played drinking games. His smile when I first slept with him, without the sex. Just, sleeping in the same bed, curled side by side. The way we were always meant to be.
But this thought, this happy thought of mine, has to be destroyed when I remember the fact that he frowned when I first told him I loved him. That he ignored me the second time. That he denied until the day before it all went to hell.
Love is handing someone a gun and letting it point to your head, believing that he won't pull the trigger. My lover pulled the trigger. I think that because of him I'm afraid of being happy. Whenever I was happy with him, something bad always happened.
And I know for a fact that I'm crying, because it's the only sound that can be heard, and it's making me feel more alone than ever. And I'm realizing just how cold it is, and just how tired I am, and that I'm running a fever and I can't move. All I want to do is get up and call. To beg him to forgive me for what I did wrong, whatever that may be. To tell him I don't care about the mistakes in our past and that I want to rekindle our relationship.
But I can't move; my limbs at numb and I'm burning up.
I can't help but wonder if he knows that I still love him. Wonder if he still loves me. And hoping that he does, I turn on my side, writing his name in the snow with my fingers. It's the last of my energy, and it's energy well spent. His name is beautiful. Just like him.
I smile to myself, because he should know. And I think he does. I think he knows that he still matters to me, the way that I hope I used to matter to him. And that's my last thought, before the world blends to white.
So, first off, sorry for the shortness. And yeah, it's just a oneshot. You don't get to know who it is, who their talking about, nor what happened to put who it was in their position or what happened afterwards. Hope you liked it anyway!