Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 21: A Sketchbook

//TW: swearing, suicidal thoughts\\

Amazing art by PartielleFinsternis

Give them a follow! NOW!

Alexander

I don't think I got it.

The bird.

I don't think I got whatever message he was supposed to impart. I don't think I got whatever Thomas had been trying to tell me with that obscurely frustrating look in his eyes as he offered me something more than I had ever deserved. I don't think I got the happiness that the bird was supposed to be bringing me. It seemed like a waste, to have him here I front of me, unable to do the one thing it had been put on this planet to do.

It wasn't Dick's fault. He was doing his best. He was singing his melancholy song, a perfect imitation of the voiceless words that he had overheard in Thomas's care. His fragile body, beautiful and bold and familiar, seemed like a beacon and a promise all combined into one small existence, and it made me question if Dick was even aware of the power he yielded, of the role he was supposed to perform. It seemed a lot to ask of one tiny creature.

He was supposed to make me happy. But I looked at him, and all I could think of was Thomas, and somehow, I grew even less happy. This sadness that consumed me seemed as though it would never disappear. It would always be apart of me, intertwined with my being. This bird, this stupid fucking bird, perfectly symbolizes everything I've lost, everything that fled from me in the wake of a soft breeze. He reminds me of my Thomas, of the one lost piece of my uncompleted heart, of the one thing I need more than anything else in the world. Who am I without him? What am I, but a loveless, lifeless, shadow of someone I had once been?

The bird, however unfair it may be, harkens back memories of a happier time. I close my eyes, I picture the world renewed in the wake of our love. I picture my hand in his as we stroll through the park, listening to the birdsong drift through the trees, a melody meant only for our ears. I picture his body pressed against mine as we sit on the bench. I picture Thomas and all that Thomas stands for, and I picture kissing him. Slow and soft and sweet. A promise. A promise that died because I was unable to keep it and nurture it the way I should have.

And now, those memories will forever be just that, memories. I will never experience them again. They are gone, utterly and truly gone, and all I can do is mourn their absence.

I rested my head on my arms, which were laying on the table. My eyes studied Dick, watching as he hopped around. He seemed as if he was looking for someone. Trying to call out to a person that just wasn't there. His song was desperate, sad, needing. A haunting melody.

He wanted Thomas.

So did I.

I can't do this. I can't keep living like this. I can't, not without him. Not without something to fill this empty room, my empty bed, my empty life. Not without something, somebody to bring color and meaning and worth back into my pitiful existence. But for now, I sit here alone in the empty, stale room, wishing for something I will never have again. How fucking painful. How fucking true.

Nothing else holds the meaning that Thomas did. Nothing else matters to me in any possible way.

I don't think I can do this any longer. I'm trying so hard to keep together. I'm trying to stay strong, for Thomas. My Thomas. But this is getting harder and harder. The idea of letting go of him was slowly becoming more and more appealing. Does that make me an awful person?