Take Your Time

19. Last Written Words. (The End)

December 3rd, 01:39 a.m.

2027.

It has been six years. Six years without you.

George stares at his own hand. The smiley face Dream drew on his hand when they first met was now tattood on his skin, so that -in some way- Dream will always be with him. Of course, that's a stupid thing to believe, but it calmed George.

He's holding an old notebook, left alone for time itself to wash over. One left untouched, because George was too scared of the words he might read.

His eyes fill with water but no tears drop as memories came flooding back. Memories of them looking up at the stars. Memories of them arguing on the same rooftop they once confessed their love on. An argument. That's it, the last memory George has of him alive.

It's better for him... Another reassuring lie he tells himself. George stepped closer to the edge, using his hoodie sleeves to dry the -almost falling- tears. His eyes widened at the view, everything underneath him looks so small. The cars, the trees, the people. He shivers, it's a horrific thought that Clay fell down from this height. Willingly.

I've been trying all those years. I don't know for how much longer I can keep going. The wind blew against George, making his hair dance in front of his eyes. At least we will be together, right? He reaches the edge, one step further and he -too- will fall to his death.

They say it gets easier. But it doesn't. I feel guilty. Terribly sorry for the mistakes I made. And have I told anyone? No. No one knows what truly happened and what caused you to jump.

That's what's killing me.
Because I know it was me.
I was the final straw for you to give up.

Standing in the exact same spot where Dream once was, George spread his arms, allowing the wind to blow past him. It has been raining all day and George couldn't help but believe that the sky was crying with him.

George sniffed, but forced himself to hold his tears. He hadn't stopped speaking to Clayton. In fact, he spent his entire afternoon with Dream's father, just talking and bringing up old memories of Clay. He couldn't help but feel terrible for him. The poor man tragically lost both of his children, and George hoped seeing him from time to time would make him feel more valid.

It's funny, how the first thing you forget about someone is their voice, and yet it was the only thing I seemed to care about back then. Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I can't remember what he looked like anymore... I recognize his face in my dreams, he seems familiar in pictures. But I can't imagine him like he used to be.

I still have the notebook, filled with words you left behind. But I never dared to look into it. I couldn't, even though they're just words written down in a book. George sat down, his legs dangling over the edge as he finally opened the notebook.

'Hi, Georgie.' Was written on the first page. He might be losing his mind for thinking this way, but he missed Dream's handwriting. He missed everything about the boy. His laugh, his smile, his presence...

George's heart dropped, he could imagine Dream's voice again. He could hear him say his name in his mind. With shaky hands, he flips the page. On this side, there are a few sketches of them together, a bunch of hearts drawn all over the page.

A smile appeared on George's face when his eyes fell on something else. It's a drawing of George, holding a book and smiling like a fool. It's the drawing made on their little date. That night will always be vividly in his mind, and looking back at it, he never expected it to be so special. It's sad to think that their first date was also their last.