He sent the second postcard in early July. It was a more difficult choice than the first one; there was nothing that really suited his mood so he had just sent a picture of one of the oldest streets in town. That was good enough, he felt old.
All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
And I'm getting so tired and so old //
He wasn't really sure why he was sending them. She had been on his mind and the image of her tear streaked face would not leave him. His body had healed and the pain of the awoken memories had receded to its usual dull ache in his soul. Once that had happened he became aware of another crack in his worn heart, one that hadn't occurred to him before consciously. That was when he began sending the postcards.
The anger swells in my guts
And I won't feel these slices and cuts
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine //
He was still angry; still felt the need to hide but that too was becoming less of a compulsion as he adjusted to his newly recognised longing. He was beginning to feel that this was no longer his place. It had been, he had needed to be here, but now the peace didn't settle over him so quickly. Something was stirring in the corner of his mind that kept him from the sedation he had found in his initial burst of anger.
Tell me that you'll open your eyes //
She was still there, still battling, probably hating him. He wondered what the others had said about his leaving, wondered what she believed. Jen thought she knew him, would say she saw this coming; that he always left someone behind eventually. Ducky would retell stories of his giving up on relationships, on commitments, on people in his past. The team would feel he had left them, rather than the situation.
Get up, get out, get away from these liars
Cos they don't get your soul or your fire
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time //
All of them would be correct, but they would not mention his reasons. There was reasoning behind everything he did, without fail. Would she be able to see that? Would she be able to apply what she knew of him to this? She who knew him best; her over brimming love for life, her fire, had given her the ability to worm her way into his heart and take up residence. He had known this at least, even before he had been aware of how he felt about her.
How he felt about her. It wasn't time to go home yet. But it would be soon. Then he would see her and make her understand. He would get his head straight; then he wouldn't waste a minute getting to her.
Every minute from this minute now
We can do what we like anywhere
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine
Tell me that you'll open your eyes
All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you //
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