theflirt: (Sad-ish)
[personal profile] theflirt

I know I'll never forget
the way i always felt with you beside me
and how you loved me then, yeah!

I'll never be the same
I'm caught inside the memories
the promises, our yesterdays
and I belong to you
I just can't walk away
cause after loving you
I can never be the same

you left me here
then I watched you disappear
you left this emptiness inside
and I cant turn back time



He doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the bed staring at the closed closet door. The shattered remains of the bed side lamp is in a heap in front of it. There's a hole in the wall next to the bedroom door where he spun around and punched it with enough force to crack the stud supporting it.

He /needs/ to get it together. He /has/ to do this. He feels like he's falling. Like he's anticipating hitting the ground but it never comes. He sighs glaring at the closet door. Fists clenched he tries to fight the on coming storm of emotions. His stomach lurches. He stands and crosses the room fingers playing over the closet door handle. Eyes closed. Waiting to feel the ghost of his lover, because god knows he should feel him /here/ for sure.

His hand grips the handle much too tightly. White knuckles aching in his swollen hand. Jack lets out slow shuddering breath that is followed closely by a heartbroken sob and pulls the door open. The Welshman's scent fills his nose, like a cruel tease. He has to resist the urge to slam the door shut. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet. God. He can't do this.

So slowly he forces his eyes open, crystal clear blue and glassy he peers into the dead man's closet. The suits are hung just like he remembers them. Neat arranged by color and pattern. Shirts the same. Ties on the special hanging rack lined up with so much precision and care it's almost a shame to disturb the order of them.

He doesn't even realize he's sunk to the floor and that he's clutching his favorite black suit with the subtle red pin-stripping. "I'll never be the same." His voice a broken whisper, heavy with tears as it falls over the fabric he has pressed against his lips. "Not after loving you."

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