It’s just a memory.
You wake up in the morning and for the tinniest part of a second you forget the year and the month and the day. In that time you wonder why the bed beside you is empty, why the sheet under your hand that had reached out is cold. In that moment you remember everything. The scent, the warmth, the feel, the sounds and in that tiny part of a second you wonder why there’s nothing, why there’s no skin under your fingertips, no sound of breathing and no scent of aftershave. Once you open your eyes and your really awake you forget about that moment of denial.
You get up and into the shower and somehow you expect someone to join you. You’re so sure about it you even turn and you could swear you’ve felt a brise as if the shower door has been opened just a bit. You shake off that feeling, doing it away as paranoia, though you know it was anticipation.
You start your day, you return to the state of mind where you deny the memory and not that it is just a memory.
You walk to your car and you glance at your garage because you know what’s in there. You tell yourself that you didn’t have time to sell it, that oyu forgot to put it in the papers but in fact you’re not ready to give it away yet.
You drive to work, not the fastest route, but the other one, the one where you pass four movie theaters and you stop at the coffee shop. It’s not the one closest to the office, but it’s the one where you can buy thpse ridiculusly sweet triple chocolate chip cookies and you do buy one of them and you only remember that you don’t like them when you’re sitting in your car again.
You park your car and for a moment you gather your strengh. You tell yourself tthat you’re preparing yourself against murderers and rapists, whatever the day would throw at you, but you’re preparing for something completely different.
You ride in the elevator and you remember whispered words. You remember a ghost of a breath and you remember the feeling of lips against yours. And you know you’re not prepared for what is ahead of you, as everyday.
You walk into the office, you see the reassuring smile of your second-in-command and it feels just wrong. As if on their own your eyes glance at the desk and the person sitting there is still just a face to you, you’ll never accept him.
The day passes and when you come home you cook something and it’s enough to ear twice. After dinner you grap a mug of bourbon and you go to the living room.
You put some movie into the DVD player and let James Bond drag you into blissful ignorance for two hours. When the credits run over the screen you turn of the monster of a TV and you stare at the shelf on the wall opposite you.
You ask yourself if it was a good idea to keep it there, if it was easier if you didn’t see it everyday. But you know it wouldn’t.
It’s just a memory, but one you couldn’t let go. It’s just a memory, that once was your life. More than a year ago.
You stand and step up to the urn.
„Good night, Tony“, you whisper and you go to bed, with the knowledge that tomorrow will be the same.
Story Notes:
I have no idea where this came from. I had a pen and paper and just started to write and incidently, I actually liked what came out of it. At first I thought it would be open what pairing it is, but it isn't and I didn't know what character died before I was about the middle of it. Well, it's a little sad, but I think the tear factor is quite low, therefore the low rating.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Tomorrow will be the same.
Chapter End Notes:
I have no idea where this came from. I had a pen and paper and just started to write and incidently, I actually liked what came out of it. At first I thought it would be open what pairing it is, but it isn't and I didn't know what character died before I was about the middle of it. Well, it's a little sad, but I think the tear factor is quite low, therefore the low rating.