Author: embracing PM
Daffodils are brilliantly coloured, they contrast with the thought that surounds them though. So how does missing someone do the things it does to you? 'Grief' series. Short but sweet. Oneshot.Rated: Fiction K - English - Angst - Words: 742 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 09-28-06 - Status: Complete - id: 3173627
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Another of my weekly updates. This one means a lot to me, like the other ones. It's not really attached to the Grief series, but it's about grief all the same. Hope you love it, and tell me what you think. Oh, and say who's perspective you think it's in.
The daffodils in the field sway, making it a sea of yellow and glimpses of green. A wave hits the curved cliff edge not far from here.
But that isn't the reason I have come. Not to see the golden daffodils dance a spritely song that the winds whisper, but to see where she lies. My eyes fall on the sandstone-bleached grave. Her name swings easily on the white, engraving itself onto my heart. A loyal and trusting friend, a beautiful, intelligent young woman, and a star in many ways.
My breathing becomes rasped and my eyes sting as fiery tears prickle painfully at them. My mouth turns down and I feel it pale.
I hear footsteps crackle on the ground as someone comes to join me. I turn slightly to see Oliver standing at my back.
'How are you going?'
I turn back to the gravestone of the girl who had been like a sister to me, and feel the tears fall down my face.
'A year,' I whisper. My heart thuds.
I don't understand how Oliver does it. He loved her. More than anything in the world, and yet, he still has time to help those others that are grieving.
I turn back to him and see pain torturing his tired bloodshot eyes and for the first time realise how much this has affected him. He's lost weight, and paled. He looks as though he hasn't slept in weeks, but still manages to make it along.
The light darkens quickly and suddenly, and I look towards the skies. Full, grim clouds hover over the field, and I watch as a single red autumn leaf travel across the stormy skies. It is sucked behind the field and I lose sight of it.
'Come on, it's time to go,' I hear Oliver whisper as a single raindrop lands on my arm. So I turn away from it all, the brightness of the field that contrasts so vividly with the feelings it creates. But I give one final glance at the grave and see her name before my eyes.
Miss. There are three meanings in the dictionary that are anything close to what I need to describe: to escape or avoid somebody or something, especially being hurt or being involved in a dangerous or unpleasant situation; to feel sorry that somebody or something is absent; to realize that somebody or something is not there, at a time when or in a place where somebody would expect him, her, or it to be present.
But none of them describe the intense feeling of sadness I get when I miss her. None of them describe how I miss everything because I miss her so much.
I miss the sun. I miss the light. I miss the moon. I miss the night. I miss words, and poetry, and texts, and art, and paint, and brushes, and smells, and sights, and worlds.
But maybe what I miss most, are the hugs. Not the hugs that mean nothing, but the hugs that always meant something.
The hugs that had arms snug around you, letting you know everything would be okay. The hugs that made your heart burst with pride, your congratulations to that person. The hugs that comforted you coupled with soothing words. The hugs that greet you when you met. The hugs that waved goodbye when you left.
But the hugs I miss most, are those that are light and delicate, ones that you wouldn't replace for the world because they remind you of her.
I saw the world with a different view when I was with her, maybe that's what is so hard to get over. That everything is different now. The sun is different. The light is different. The moon is different. The night is different. Words are different, and poetry, and texts, and art, and paint, and brushes, and smells, and sights and worlds.
So maybe, because she's gone I can see those things differently. Because maybe she was the one that made them different.