It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
The harlequin's mask cracks into a lopsided grin. Oh, cruel irony. Cruel fate. Cruel memories that begin to creep in upon him again leaving him huddled into the corner to fend for himself against the legions of rememberance.
Is it better?
He begins to rock back and forth, the strangely comforting movement done unconciously as he wills the memories to stay at bay. They gather round. They pierce his heart. Happy. Sad. He can't tell which ones hurt more. He buries his hands in his hair and pulls hard, hoping the pain will distract him from the images dancing behind his closed eyelids. The tears still escape despite the fact that his eyes are shut tight.
To have loved...
Every adoring glance, every warm embrace, the sound of laughing until ribs are sore, the sweet words spoken in darkness
Not lost; stolen, wrenched, torn, broken and bleeding to somewhere out of reach.
To never hear that voice, to never see that smile, to never feel as safe and warm, to lose a home.
screaming, screaming, crying, begging, please GOD... please
or never to have loved at all.