envy | tommy shelby imagines

[4.2] young lovers torn apart

"The sun, about to set can never last.
It breaks my heart.
Each joy feels like a threat:
Although there's beauty everywhere,
Its shadow is regret."
- The point // Kate Tempest.

YOUR POV

THE days lingered like the smoke that emitted from the countless cigarettes I plagued my lungs with, making them as black as the night sky in the name of forsaken love.

It has been a measly month since my Tommy and I parted ways, 4 whole weeks since I slammed that door, but to this day, I can still feel the rattle beneath my feet as if I were doing it all again, the date on my worn calendar is February 14th.

Saint Valentine is an arsehole.

Since moving back into my run down apartment above the butchers, I've felt the walls closing in every day, getting tighter against my skin like a soaking shirt, sticking to me, but I can't peel it off, it stays there, perched on my arms as if I welcomed it.

I'm riddled with the closeness like Freddie with the pestilence.
Goddamn you, Thomas Shelby.

As I bounce my way to the kitchen, avoiding the broken floors I ignored for so long, I hear the door knocked sound, reminding me of the slam once more,

BANG.

Only once, did it sound, but that sound brought back the raindrops I tried to keep at bay in my clouded eyes, but the waves of my eyelashes beckoned them forward, told them to not be afraid to fall, but they no longer fall, they sprint down my cheeks as I look toward the door, the knock still repeating itself like on a cycle.
My worn knees bend to follow the trail the sound left me, dragging my body forward to that dastardly door.

Once open, I find my favourite flowers leaning limply on the railing a few feet in front of me, as I gaze on them, a small smile creeps it's way to my lips, as I know my old Tommy left them, just for me, like he used to do.

I folded note is left wedged between the stems, and as I slide them through without damaging the precious petals that cascade over it, as I have it grasped between my thumb and middle finger, I sit on the small walkway in front of my home, back leant on the brick wall next to my open door, legs crossed, and heart slowly mending itself.
A deep sigh emits from me, as I close my eyes and turn it over.

"My dearest Eve"

Sprawled on the front in the awful hand writing he never perfected in his years, the smile stayed cemented on my lips, not ever leaving for a second, and I open the folded note, eyes travelling to the black ink plaguing the white paper, only slightly stained green from the flowers.

"My lovely Eve,

I have stood over this blank page for the entirety of your departure,
Thinking of all the right words to say, and in every sense of the word,
I have nothing.

I have no excuses for anything, for any of it. I thought, for just a moment, that I felt like I did when we first started dating, you know, the new?
Everything is better when it's new, I thought.

As I laid with her, I realised, the reason I did it was because I imagined it was everything new, but I imagined OUR new.