[The memory hits him quickly, viscerally. Something that happened, that didn't happen; he can remember being on his knees, the way it had felt right, had felt usual, the way their entire life had felt right and usual and though imperfect, often lovely.
Sometimes he misses the person the void made him. Someone stable. Someone capable of sacrifice, of holding down a home, of being unselfish. His voice is thick, filled with a decade of want: ]
I remember. I remember the way you - looked at me, like it was the first time all over again. [Maybe it was. Maybe every memory of their life was a first time, little pieces of things and life that they strung together and experienced like they'd never done anything like it before. ]
no subject
Sometimes he misses the person the void made him. Someone stable. Someone capable of sacrifice, of holding down a home, of being unselfish. His voice is thick, filled with a decade of want: ]
I remember. I remember the way you - looked at me, like it was the first time all over again. [Maybe it was. Maybe every memory of their life was a first time, little pieces of things and life that they strung together and experienced like they'd never done anything like it before. ]
Don't be long.