When the day comes, the sun that pours the warmth into my room touches me. It floods my cold body with the warmth that I long for. The dying sun that doesn’t burn my skin reminds me of the sun kissed fruits I used to eat, the sweet ice cream that I used to love. With its dying light, the dying warmth can no longer fill me with its heat and I can only long.
The moon serenades me with her sugary promises of a world that belongs to me alone. At night the flutter of the owl’s wings, the cold white light of the moon falling onto my stark lying body, the rustle of the leaves that sway to the wind’s song become one in my memories. The moon and her brilliant love so bright yet so cold. I lie staring into her beauty, my doubts chased away. Apart, I wonder why I had given the warmth away for her distant love. I wonder that every day for before her I am nothing but a man and without her I am nothing.
I saw her with her half closed eyes. Her head was leaning against the decomposing tree, her sliver tresses framing her alabaster face, her pale pink lips slightly ajar was how I first laid eyes on her. It was that pale beauty that I fell in love with. How long it had been since then, a hundred years had passed in a blink of an eye. There is no one left from my time, a foolish man I have been, reaching the outstretched hand into the unknown. The smile that charmed me, that turned my insides into ice and slush. There is no warmth in her body; there is no warmth in her love, there is only the sense of incompleteness left behind. The sound of the fabric as she wraps it around her drowns out everything else and I can only watch. Time is transient to me as her love is.
The curtain flaps loudly in the noisy breeze, the sound of the traffic outside taunts me and I can feel the heat of the sunlight that I cannot touch. The heavy curtains block off all the sunlight except the one trail that burns into the carpet, searing the colour off the carpet in its fiery blaze. I sit by the window watching the things I can never have and used to have. The honeyed crushed ice in a cone on the hot sweltering days, the cool chilled beer on cold days are now but sand in my mouth. There is no taste left for me besides her.
The dawn is breaking, the sound of the waking birds fill my ears as I lie beneath the trees. My body longs to stay and let the sun fill me with its warmth, a choice that tortures me, for there is a tomorrow that will never end without her.
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A/N: This story is purposely left opened ended. It is up to you to deduce what the hell I’m talking about, but if you deduce anything beyond a vampire remembering then tell me. I feel its incomplete still, lacking.
