Broken hearts

That lonely girl,
I held to the wishes of her heart
and met no such thing as a soulless poem,
her innocence blocking the way of what could have been,
reality never being such an important objective.
Nothing flies past her when she goes away,
the moon's light elegant handwriting
chasing after her.
There, she steals my heart and joy, never to return.
I envy her when she disappears, vanishing,
killing the broken heart
I once had.

The piece of paper falls innocently from Kyle's book when I take it to reach the letter under it. I take it instinctively, and instead of storing it back in the book, as I should have done, I read it without thinking.

I recognize Kyle's handwriting, as well as the style, like that sad poem he wrote about Lirya when he ran to the Fade, that night. And at first I smile, thinking this is something he wrote inspired on me, but when I arrive to the second half of the text, I already have realized this is not the case. And the last two lines break my heart too. Again.

Because it's clear these lines talk about Lindy.

I can't help it. Her shadow flies over my soul again, and I just want to die too. Because when one dies, young, beautiful and innocent, without giving time for deception, what remains is so perfect, so untouchable, no living being can fight against it. And that's what I feel each time her memory gets between him and me. I will never be able to beat that. It is not that I feel jealous or something. It is something worse. Because I know I will never be able to have his heart. Not the part she still does.

I don't really know how long have I stayed sitting there, the old piece of paper folded into my hand, my eyes full of tears which don't decide to fall, and a knot in my throat which hurts like a knife. Maybe not too much, but it feels like ages. Kyle enters the room and touches my shoulder, a bit concerned.

"Are you all right?", he asks. "You didn't reply when I... Mari! Are you crying?"

When he says so I realize silent tears were falling down my cheeks. Stupid me. I cry too much. I try to wipe them but before I raise my arm he hugs me and kisses them. "What happens, my love?", he asks, between kiss and kiss.

"Nothing", I answer, sniffing, and it's the truth. Because I don't know why I am so sad, but I am. Finally I give him back his poem. "This... this just fell from a book... I couldn't help but read it..."

He takes it and leaves it over the table, not minding it. "It's old". I know. I've noticed the spots on the paper, the blurry ink. But even so. The feelings are still there. After twelve years. He hugs me again, while I try not to cry again. Finally I ask the question which burns in my heart.

"Do you miss her?"

He just stares at me, like pondering the question.

"Yes, I do", he admits, finally, deciding that the truth would hurt less than an obvious lie.

I swallow, and nod. Of course. I shouldn't have asked. Sometimes I seem to enjoy rolling on my own despair.

"And if I die, will you miss me the same way too?"

I know the question is unfair, but my pain is unfair too. Because I want him to treasure my memory the same way he treasures hers. Only that. All that.

"Why do you ask me that?" he says, his eye wide open. "You already know the answer".

"No I don't", I reply. "I don't know if you'll write poems about me, or dream with me in the Fade"

He looks at me as if I had to know it, as if it was clear in his face. And maybe I knew, but I need to hear it. To be sure.

"No. I will not write poems for you", he says, harsh. "Because I won't be able. That time, I'll follow you".

No. I didn't know it. I didn't even imagine it. And the beauty of what he implies, the strenght of his feelings here, just make me cry again, like a lost little child. Why am I concerned for such a stupid thing? She's dead. He's alive. He's mine. I have him now, now, now. Why do I spoil everything thinking about her?

He hugs me again, tight and gently. He strokes my hair and hums a lullaby. I feel like a baby in his arms, but for once I don't mind him behaving like a daddy. I don't get asleep, I can't get asleep, but I feel much better... I sob a bit, and start to feel calmed. He adds a last phrase, something that again, makes the pain come back, but also makes me feel I will never, never loose his love.

"Do you know what do they say in Highever?". I shake my head. "That, if you love and forget, you'll do the same the next time you fall in love".

"So it is good that you don't forget her?"

"She will always keep a piece of my heart, yes. But now you know why it isn't bad".

I hug him tigther. "That will have to do. Do you know what they say in the orphanage? That sharing is caring".

He smiles gently.

"Are you disappointed?"

"Why?"

"Because I won't write poems about you when you die".

"Being dead seems a good reason not to do it to me", I tease faintly. I kiss his cheek and add "I'm sorry. Sometimes I am so silly..."

He rubs his nose with mine and smiles. "It's fine".

"I.. I feel like a stupid"

"A stupid? Why?"

"Because I was crying. And I didn't have a reason to do it".