Mr. 0

To whom

He laid now in the bed, staring at the ceiling with a hand on the cool sheets beside him. He moved his hand slightly, rubbing against the soft covers as his eyes closed and imagined you there; imagining his fingers cascading over your warmth.

He stopped, opening his eyes.

She wouldn't want me sad.
She knew I tried my hardest.
She knew I had done all I could

But, I failed her. And now she's gone.

A warmth spread through his face; however, instead of a warm glow he felt heated tears pricking the corners of his weathered eyes.

They were going to build a life together, they were supposed to make a family with one another. He promised to her multiple times how he'd make sure to take care of her when the children would come.

Now, he had hollow promises that would never come to be. He was slowly emptying what was left of him onto his cheeks.

He brought his hand up to wipe the tears away, looking down at the wetness on his palm.

How.

You weren't even here, and you had still made him cry. What power did this woman have over him? He had never been so happy, so joyful, so full of life; and now he'd never felt so hollow and alone.

He was used to the emptiness in his past years, he was used to going to sleep without someone curling up into his side; and now he craved for just another night with you in his bed.

He didn't need to relish in the warmth of lovemaking you had both come to know quite well, all he needed was to wrap your body in his arms and embrace the last few moments he could.

He turned on his side now, looking now to the wardrobe that held the ring he'd never be able to give you.

He smiled slightly, closing his eyes as more tears threatened to spill. He remembered the conversation you both had had, leaning against the shower wall embracing one another.

-
"You know Croc, I don't really think boyfriend is really fitting for someone like you. You don't look like a boyfriend you look like.."

"What? What do I look like?"

"You look like...a husband."
-

His chest heaved slightly, turning away.

He'd never felt so vulnerable, and here he thought you were the only thing to make him feel as such.

"Crying isn't as much about weakness as it is about genuineness"

He frowned, sitting up in bed. He swiped his hand across his cheeks once more, gazing down at the tears resting on his skin.

Tears. How he'd seen so many fall from your eyes.

How he wished he could witness more.

He had always consoled you, held you, and calmed you against his chest; he'd watch your tears slowly dry, your hands wiping the few strays that would always fall.

What he would do to see it all again.

What he would do for just a few moments with you.

He stood, tossing the covers off as he walked to the window and looked down into the garden; where you'd never walk in again.

He could still see you walking through, smiling every so often before you would catch him watching and give a small wave; sending a small kiss along with it.

You'd pick a few stray flowers, sit on the swing and tie them together in a little crown; stating you were practicing for when the children would come. You would sit it on his head, commenting how cute he'd look if he smiled more; sending him into a  blushing fury.

He took a step back, taking in a deep breath  as he turned away and walked to the door out into the hallway.

He could faintly recall the sound of your voice ringing from the walls, almost as if you had became a part of the house itself.

Now he stood in the dark hallway, a chilling numbness of silence settling in the air as he slowly walked towards the stairs.

Even in the dark you were able to glow, and now that you weren't there, it felt all the more chilling.

You were the light of this house; you were the soul of what warmth he had. Now he had no soul, no light; there was no such thing as a home anymore if you weren't there with him.

You had always carried the label of home.
You were a comfort, you were a safe place. You were what made this house feel like a home when everything went crumbling to ashes.

He stepped lightly on the stairs, slowly descending to the bottom where he lingered on the banister; glancing back to the top.

Many a time had he waited at the bottom of these stairs for you. Many times had his heart pounded against his chest as he watched you walk down to him, looking as gorgeous as you always had.

Every piece of this house held a memory, everywhere he looked he could recall a memory of you both sitting or talking. His heart was throbbing, and his head was in pain as everything was flooding to him all at once.

He fell to his knees, hunched over in a sob.

His eyes stung with the hot tears flowing down his cheeks, his hand gripping at the loose hairs of his head as his shoulders shook and his chest heaved; a gaping emptiness settling in his heart as he fell forward.

He had finally broken, sitting there in the foyer as his sobs and muffled cries echoed back from the empty walls of the house; and what used to be a home.

He bent forward, his eyes clenched shut as tears cascaded from his face and landed on the floor Infront of him. His throat burned as he breathed in, tears drying out as he faded back into his comforting silence; the final few cries echoing back to him.