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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: this is home - cavetown
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With a quiet reverence, Tommy unlocked the door with a key hidden within the depths of his golden pocket watch. As he slipped inside, the door closed behind him with a soft click, enveloping him in solitude. He stepped into the room, a shelter of memories amidst the bedlam of his beingness.
The room was bathed in a soft, dim light, casting shadows that danced upon the walls. It held his treasure, his solace in the face of unbearable loss—her belongings, remnants of a life once lived. They were invaluable to him, holding more worth than any worldly possession could ever offer.
In the hushed stillness, fueled by a potent mixture of wrath and rue, Tommy's mind played tricks on him. Was it delusion that made him see her standing there, by the vanity, as he turned to light a lamp for a semblance of warmth? Or was it the desperate yearning of a grieving heart, longing for one more moment with the love he had lost?
"Tommy." Her voice, soft and ethereal, whispered through the air, a ghostly echo. There was a gentle laughter in her tone as she delicately ran a comb through her strawberry-blonde hair.
"Mari..." He breathed her name, a fragile prayer escaping his lips, filled with longing and desperation.
"Why do you look so sad, Tommy?" Her words, a teasing whisper, pierced through the silence, igniting a tempest of emotions within him.
He reached out to her, his hand trembling as it sought the warmth of her presence, half-expecting her to dissolve into wisps of smoke beneath his touch. But she remained solid, achingly real, as if mocking the frailty of his grasp on reality. His fingers traced the contours of her being, desperate to hold onto the illusion of her and find solace in the tangible reminder of his love and loss.
"I miss you, Mari," he confessed, his voice a fragile whisper exclusive only inside that room, for her, heavy with the weight of his ruefulness. "I love you."
She turned within his embrace, her form ethereal yet agonizingly tangible. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek, could almost taste the sweetness of her presence lingering in the air like a bittersweet memory.
"Tom, do not grieve for me," she murmured, her voice a gentle breeze that stirred the ashes of his heartache. "There's no time for sorrow, love."
