**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has read so far... This is the epilogue. I'm sorry this is so short, but it seems that this was the only way. I love all of you.x
~*~
I was broken.
Broken apart and weathered down like rocks in a canyon or gorge.
I was empty.
Empty from all of the things I haven’t done and all the lives I haven’t been apart of.
I was nothing.
I stumbled to the front door once the mailman had left the premises.
He left a while ago. Didn’t say goodbye either.
He left me here to rot – to rot in this god-forsaken apartment as if it were a prison-cell while he held the world on a string. I haven’t turned on the television since he left which had been at least a month. I haven’t been outside. I haven’t eaten a true meal besides the occasional box of pizza. I’ve been drunk far too much.
Far too much.
I clawed through the mail on the floor - mostly bills and letters from Mum, but nothing unusual until I saw a postcard.
It was a beautiful picture of Venice, Italy, and on the bottom right corner it had “From Venice, with love!” plastered on the side in letters my weakened eyes strained to read.
I turned it over to see whom it was from. My hand trembled and the tears came back – stinging my eyes like acid. I took long deep breaths to control my heart and mind. And read the back of the postcard:
‘We’re asking for so much more.
You’re always in my heart.’
He drew one of the tattoos he had – a skateboarder who lost his balance and was saying, “Oops!”
It continued:
‘We have had so many good times,
I miss you.x
-Always yours, Louis’
How can he have the nerve to send me a stupid postcard? Why not tell me to my face? It’s his entire fault anyway. His fault that Ed’s the only person I’ve seen in a month. His fault that I get drunk too early every morning, his fault that I don’t speak to my family, his fault that I quit the band. Everything is his fault.
And now he’s bringing postcards to my door and asking for ‘so much more’.
While bad memories are in pieces on the floor.