In Retrospect
In retrospect you don't understand. There was a reason, once, to keep you all together. You don't remember what that is now. Maybe it was because you thought you would be stronger that way, the three of you together, or maybe it was your fear of having no one left. Looking back, you think splitting up was inevitable. It was more than a difference of opinions, more than one person's needs taking precedence over the rest - it was faulty from the beginning, you think. You remember a poem, and you think nothing gold can stay.
Maybe it's better this way.
The library was always quiet, and you always found solace there. In that single place you could get away, you could forget everything you didn't want to think about. It almost felt safe. At one time you think you knew what safe was. The silence now is something different than it used to be. You used to be able to turn page after page and absorb the words across the paper, and this silence is just empty. It's just you. This place. Cold. Pictures used to hang on the wall at one time or another. They're barren now.
I'm sorry to tell you this, but-
Barren isn't something you're used to. You think you were full of life, once. You all were. You remember smiles. You even remember the sound of laughter. It seems too long ago. You want back what time has taken: Days. Weeks. Years.
Lives.
You can change your mind, if you want to.
Sometimes, you wonder if you should have because you were alive once, too. You had a life. They had a life. There were times you wondered if you could ever live without them, them without you. It seemed impossible. You had dreams, so many of what it would be like years from then, when you were all grown. It was always three. You and him and him. It was never just you. You never wanted this. Things this way. Your books used to save you, and now they're your condemnation. In pages and words, clips and phrases, you used to find comfort. It all changed. Words and dusty books only remind you of what you used to be. What they used to be. It all seems so far away. It hurts to remember that you used to be happy once. That's over now.
As long as you and I are here -
It's too easy to breakdown when you're alone.
Time passes. It's Christmas again. You hate the snow, the cold. It reminds you too much of yourself. Your house feels too empty. You have no one left now. There was a time when it was warm here, when this time of year was something you cherished; it used to smell like cinnamon and gingerbread. It smells like burning coals now. You watch old letters burning in the embers, the smoke drifting up through the chimney that is used for only this now. You don't expect visitors because you know there won't be any. There is no Christmas tree, no lights, no sparkling papers or bows. You don't have time to waste on things that hold no meaning.
They did once.
Then.
-->