My Alpha Centauri (Completed)

跑步了我|1.0

'Everything I said got lost in the air. That's what people had described my voice to be: One with the air.

Everything had seemed simple back then, back when the coffee had been warm and my thoughts had been soft.

'Tell me a story.' And I did, I told him my favourite; a story about a firefly in love with the moon.

When I had finished speaking my words, when I had finished shedding my truth, he had stared at me in a way that I never understood.

'You take too many of my words.' I murmured, my own eyes looking at him in a way I never understood.'

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A R T

WHEN I HAD FIRST MET GRAY, he had reminded me of the stages of grief, his eyes; blue – just like the river at home – and his stance so impossibly broken that everything he did fell to pieces, but staring at him and the smoke leaving his mouth, I realised now that he wasn't the stages of grief people wrote about – he was the stages of grief no one wrote about.

His river eyes turned to me and I rested my head against the brick wall, ignoring the agony present in every feature he had and focusing on the words spilling into my brain.

Just because I want you doesn't mean I can...

'...He had met someone he needed yet couldn't have...and he was stuck; rethinking the words which had painted his eyes 'Just because I want you doesn't mean I can'' I proceeded on telling my story, watching as his eyes turned to river and his lungs forgot how to work.

My stories always affected Gray the most, always made him think and want and hope and cry, but he never did any of those, he couldn't do any of those things.

'The last thing he thought about everyday...was how her voice had been warm like the sea and how her eyes were something he wouldn't forget – something he couldn't forget...' I finished telling my story with a few other words and focused on the smoke rising from his lips.

Gray smelt like the mint and smoke his jacket had been drenched with, and I found myself remembering the smell and hoping that one day I wouldn't yearn for it like I did for the smell of home.

The howls emptied out into the air and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the night would take it with us. Not that that was ever going to happen – my hope never won.

The air around me turned cold and suddenly I didn't feel like sitting on the veranda anymore. I didn't feel like watching the smoke and eyeing the night. I didn't want to.

Gray was quiet for a long time, rethinking and rethinking over the words that I told him, over the same story I told him every night, hoping he'd realise that the warmth in her voice was still out there.

'Every time you love...' I murmured quietly, fixating my eyes on the bleeding river he was and remembering the same words she had told me every night, 'A piece of you is given to the moon. And only you remember the piece you gave up – and only you will want it back...'

Everything these days didn't seem to have an end, and if it did, the end never sounded like an end – only ever a beginning that made me think of the end. Words had been passed and now the only thing left was the continuous drum of agony the howls brought. They were closer than normal, almost as if they were out there, staring at us under the pale light the moon could only bring.