When You Return

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When You Return

By chopin

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The wind blew in through my bedroom window.

I admit, I’m lucky to have such a beautiful view. You gave me this view, didn’t you?

That night, the night that wasn’t so different from this one, you put me here and gave me a chaste kiss before telling me that you needed to go be a noble hero, and that you would come back when everything was sorted out and we would pick up everything the way we had left it.

You told me not to cry, and I hate it that I couldn’t obey you on that.

You’ll forgive me if I tell you that I did cry a little, right? Because I’ll also have you know that I wiped them away just as quick as they fell, and even the bright moonlight didn’t get a chance to shine down upon them, illuminating my tears for the whole world to see.

Sorry if I’m getting a little poetic here.

And when you left, I was standing right here by the window, just the way I am now, and I could hear the soft rushes of the ocean tide, urging you to hurry home. The wind was a comfort to my bare skin, and even though the only light was the silver moon, I didn’t sleep.

I breathed the fresh night air all through the night, hair a mess—the curtains billowing out around me, like a blanket of comfort.

And on those cool, summer nights full of fireflies and slow, swirling winds, I never slept. My pillow stayed un-touched, and it seemed as if morning never came.

I contented myself with waiting for you, searching for signs within the way the trees swayed, a soft whisper of hope to my ears.

I looked to the moon and thought of your eyes, you know. I imagined that you were looking at me always, and weren’t you? You were, Draco. I know it.

You’ll never fully understand the joy of simply entertaining idle thoughts—and watch them grow into ideas, reveries, fantasies and dreams.

It’s the calm after the storm of the day; my only solace, my only escape to get a little closer to you.

I manage to be happy. After all, you’ve given me all the love, all the security you could give—this whole island of paradise.

But I think I may be too selfish.

Because sometimes, even when I’m marveling at all this beauty, fantasizing the wonderful day when you’d return, I cry again, just the thing you told me to never do, and I bite my lip

Worrying. And then, nothing seems to comfort me. Except you being here, with me.

I miss you.

And then there are those nights when the air clings to my skin, and the ocean tides are still and there is no wind.

The nights when the moon refuses to shine.

For a moment or two, a flicker of a most ridiculous thought flashes through my foolish mind:

That you will never return again.

But I know that’s not true, right?

Even if I see your name engraved in gray granite, I know you’ll return because you hate people who break promises and you never were a hypocrite.

You will keep your promise.

And slowly but surely, biting at my lip as I continue to look for answers unseen—

I will keep mine.

Once upon a time, you told me you would return to me.

I told you I would wait forever for you.

Forever has come and gone and well,

I haven’t slept in years.

But don’t worry—the wind is still blowing, and the ocean still rushing—

And I’m not crying, Draco.

I’m just feeling a little tired.