A/N I wrote this out of nowhere. I honestly don't know why. Of all things. But I did.

Structure. I've never been really good with that. Usually because it ends up falling apart. C'est la vie.

I've never had much structure to anything. As much as I like things together, someone is inconsiderate enough to keep breaking them apart. I wonder if there's anything I've done in a past life that has angered one with more control over this 'structure' than I am, but it's a guess that isn't too unfounded from where I stand right now.

Where I stand right now is amid another burning mess. Figuratively, this time, rather than literally. This mess would consist the remnants of a beautiful thing when it was there and the fleeting hopes of it reforming. However, it is not going to, so that would be why the hope is therefore fleeting.

C'est la vie.

It's an empty house, if you want to be literal about it. His stuff is gone. Mine is not. And yet it is still empty. Funny. I guess I never kept much in the way of possessions. I never really relied on things like that. And yet I relied on him for any objects to be put in this now empty, lonely house. Funny how things turn around.

I look around, and I'd like to see something there, anything, that looks familiar. I'm usually more logical than this, to keep enough around to live off of. What was I thinking, letting him furnish and decorate the entirely of our hom- my house, and then demand he take everything with him when he leave? I usually think these things through. Damn.

Of course, not everything can be gone. It wasn't like I lost everything in the whirlwind of a year that beautiful thing was conceived and thrived. It seemed like I lost myself, but as I stand in this house alone with nearly nothing to my name if maybe 'myself' could use some change. Maybe I was better during that beautiful thing.

I used to think, when I was so different with him, that the beautiful thing and he were one and the same. And then I realized that the beautiful thing was us. What we created, by being together. Not physically, no, I wasn't that illogical, but the feeling and the aura we created together. And the home…

When that thought pierces my mind, of our home, it hits a nerve. Goddamnit, I hate that. I never once thought of this as our home. I thought of this as my house, his stuff. It wasn't until I looked back in retrospect that I realized that this was a home, the home I always said I was looking for, and now it was gone. And the house was empty again.

I hate this house. It was fine before. But now it seems so miserable, as if it's begging to be put to use again. Are you just as sad as I am, house?

Damnit. I am sad. I can say that I'm stronger all that I want, but that's cowardice. Not being stronger, but claiming that my strength is the reason that I should be emotionless. In the end, it was strength that brought me to him, leaping into his arms without caring what happened next.

Even if this was what happened next. An empty house that is no longer a home, and an empty woman that is no longer a soul.

The idea seems so cruel, or so desperate, that a woman could not be a soul without her mate, and it's an idea I hate and surely one I do not think was true. But I didn't have a soul. I don't feel as if I did. I was a trained killer, focused on her next job more than anything. Even if emotion did peek through it never seemed strong enough to classify me as a soul who spent her time yearning for happiness and love instead of getting the next job done and getting revenge against all who wronged her. I'm probably very wrong but I loathe who I was sometimes especially after seeing who I could be.

He was the kind of person I should have loathed but that's why I loved him. He knew things I didn't, and while I felt that to be an inconvenience, part of me was awakened. Intrigued by the thoughts of this azure-haired boy with the delicate face and the kind smile. I must look so strange to someone like him, so cold and up front. And yet he didn't mind.

He didn't mind that when he asked me what my favorite type of music was, that I told him I didn't listen to any. It's cinematic music, now, instrumentals that need no voice to create amazing worlds. It's a bygone tribute to the good about how I lived before.

He didn't mind that when he asked me what type of food I liked, I said that anything that provides a decent amount of nutrition. He cooked the best oriental food, with spices unlike anything I ever thought possible.

He didn't mind that when I first saw him cry after he had a damning conversation with another woman he loved at the time, that I told him to be quiet and grow a thicker skin.

He cried like that when we had our own damning argument. I didn't reply to him this time.

And we never spoke again.

Now I'm the one crying.

And I don't stop myself either. I had no idea why harsh words could make someone cry so much as if they'd been horrendously injured. Whenever I received anything like I gave him before, I steeled up further, let it become strength and anger to drive me along. What masochism. Now I allow myself to cry because I feel the pain, cutting my vein with every heartbeat. I know what he felt.

I'm nowhere near as intelligent as I thought I was. But I was brilliant. For a short time, I was brilliant. When he told me that he loved me. How insane of an idea was that? To love someone who was so cold, so uninspired. So soulless.

I wasn't soulless. Was I? He saw it in me, that I had a soul. I just didn't know it. It's a corny idea that only works in films that don't know how corny they're being because they're just too happy to stop. And that's what our love was like. I loved him because he had the courage to love me. Even if I didn't know how to do it right.

I can't be as bad as I think I am. After all, he loved me. That counts for something.

He loved me enough to move his things into here and create a home for both of us. How did he know it was what I always wanted? I didn't even know it was what I always wanted. He kissed me, and I didn't know how amazing the connection of two lips could be until he showed me. It was amazing because it bonded us for the first time. That bond was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

It's what's broken now. Just like my thoughts. I could also use the saying that my heart is what is broken, but in truth, I suppose it isn't. It beats now.

I've always held fast to the idea that when your heart still beats, there is still opportunity to try again. And my heart will break when I'm dead. Even if it hurts now as my tears start to find that they cannot flow any more, it has not broken.

I'm still here.

I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down.

He liked that song. It was obnoxious, but fun, and we listened to it sometimes as we drove through the lands. He took me to a place within the countryside that had so many beautiful trees. They looked beautiful once I started to associate them with him.

He would take me in the midst of all those trees and we would sit there and we would talk. Scream, laugh, cry (a rarity on either side) and say whatever we wanted because no one would ever hear it but us. And I liked that idea. Wish I thought of it myself. Not that it'd have done me any good, I was a professional liar to myself, first and foremost.

He and I were there so many times.

And he won't be there again, I believe.

But I will be. Before I've even finished wiping my eyes I have found my keys to my own car, and walk out of the house and into it. Habitually I begin to drive, finding my way there by instinct. Always a passenger by his own requests. But I'll always remember the path.

I don't even know how much time has passed before I'm there, but I have driven to the beginning of the trail. I exit the car with the keys in hand and run into the forests we used to love. A place only we knew about.

I don't even wait until I'm a mile in the trees. They're tall, proving plenty of shade and support against anything that may want to hear or hurt me. I can handle the latter… but not the former.

I'm still paranoid as I do another double take, but I accept the crowd being nonexistent. I close my eyes and begin. I'm terrified but I pull through.

"I was wrong," I shout to the sky, daring it to respond. "I was wrong. What I said to him was wrong. I did not understand how much he meant to me. How I hurt him was wrong. It could have worked out… but I didn't want to."

I swallow, not surprised that I'm already about to cry again. I screw my eyes shut and clench my fist as I confessed once more. "I loved him. I loved him more than I loved anything else. He knew me, and what made me happy."

I'm already choking up as I stand against a tall pine tree, allowing some of the needles to prick my face almost as hard as my tears do. "And he wanted to… make me happy. And it hurts me that I've lost him. That I pushed him away. That I hurt him."

I forgive myself mentally for starting to sob again as I gasp out "And I'm sorry. So, so, sorry. I'm sorry for what I did and what I said and for destroying what we had." That's all I can say before I've made myself hysterical again, burying my face into my wool sweatshirt which leans against the tree.

When I'm pretty sure I've cried all that I needed to, I gasp for air, opening my eyes and looking around. No one's appeared yet, so I say my final two words.

"Thank you."

And that was that.

I start my walk to the car, still not feeling one hundred percent. That's because he was part of my one hundred percent. Now I need to find out how I can fill that space.

It's all I have now. That, and an empty house that will someday be full again.

And despite it all, I smile. Because I can hope and I can make it happen.

C'est la vie.

A/N I didn't really put much thought into why I wrote this. I just did. Also disclaimers and all that yadda.