𝖒𝖈𝖞𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖙 𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖘

Missing The Memories That Never Got Made

Tommy didn't think he was having a nightmare for once.

Tubbo and him were playing in a field.

A flower field.

The flowers were yellow and red and all different colors.

Tubbo was laughing and smiling and bees buzzed around him. No scars littered his arms or his cheeks. Just big brown eyes and an innocent smile and bees.

Tubbo loved bees so much.

Tommy tried to smile back, and he hated that he knew it was a dream. It wasn't going to last forever.

And it wasn't real.

Tubbo took his hand, and he wished it was.

They were running now, they were flying now, the flower petals scraped the sides of his arms lightly. No scars there either.

The dream couldn't get rid of the scars in his memories though.

Memories that weren't his flashed through his head, memories that never happened but at the same time should've.

Tubbo and him laying by the fire, Wilbur bringing them hot cocoa.

Philza hugging him, tight and warm, saying he was proud of him.

Football games across the grass, Wilbur's ruffled hair.

Birthday parties never celebrated, a disc cake that was never made, a happy birthday song that was never sung, kisses goodnight and tucks into bed that never happened.

Crying, he was crying, Tubbo was holding his hand, Wilbur was patting his back.

His pet had died.

He was grieving.

God, that was what grieving felt like.

Proper, healthy grieving.

He was crying and he wasn't alone, and no one was telling him to stop.

And they buried it in the ground and they made a proper gravestone.

And there were no bitter memories of it, only happy ones.

And he grieved and he moved on.

He fucking moved on.

Firework shows he never enjoyed, he could never enjoy anymore because he was scared of them, because shit that ruined happiness happened.

TNT cannons and running across plains biomes and not being scared of holes, being unafraid.

Still damaged, but not broken.

Things can hurt him, but he would still fucking heal.

God, he wondered what it was like to heal.

The life that could've been, should've been flashed across his mind.

And god fucking damnit, Tommy was angry.

He was angry at the world, at the universe, because he fucking should be.

Why did it have to make him cry alone?

And he woke up, and he was crying alone.

Scars littered his face and his arms and his body and his mind.

He was so TIRED.

He was alone.

He was broken, and he couldn't heal.

And Tubbo was with Ranboo, healing.

And Tubbo was with Ranboo because it wasn't enough, the fucking half lump of a broken heart that Tommy had.

And now Tommy had nothing now.

It was worse than a nightmare.

Cause you feel even more empty when you wake up.

—-
Another blurb.

Playlist: "Missing memories that never got made and missing the people you never met."