The Wordless Symphony {Andy Biersack}

4 - The Last Something That Meant Anything

    He was staring at me with those big blue eyes, those cerulean orbs that saw straight through me and sent chilled shivers straight to my core.  There was a smile tugging on his lips, exposing the pearls beneath while the incandescence lit up his entire face.  Black hair haloed my angel’s face, his strong bone structure creating a creature not of this world.  The tall figure towered over me, his head tilted downwards to gaze into my eyes while large hands remained nervously tucked into jean pockets.  He chuckled, looking away and shuffling his feet before chewing on that luscious lower lip.  I stared longingly at him, heart fluttering in my chest when his fingertips reached up to touch the base of my throat anxiously.  The smile had fallen from those lips all of a sudden and a more serious tone was set to the azure irises.

    He spoke, but I could not hear him.   My heart ached and my ears throbbed with the incessant need to understand what he was saying and to hark his words.  They would not surface and as he blinked, his hand touched my cheek.  Fingers were tipping my face back, begging me to look deeper into that face I so treasured.  I did not move much, only obeying his commands when they came.  My fingers were restless at my side but I did not let them touch him for fear that he would dissolve in the wind, becoming nothing more than ashes in the breeze.  I knew that touching him would make him disappear, as though he never existed.

    Instead I contented myself with his touch, letting him gaze forlornly into my eyes, his gaze dancing to my mouth for instants at a time.  I bit the inside of my cheek and smiled, eyes closing as long lashes brushed against my cheeks.  The need to nuzzle his hand arose but I did not do so.  He would be gone in an instant if I allowed myself to take advantage of him in any way.

    Still he spoke in silence, mouth moving and dancing but no sound emanating from it other than a slow hum that set me quiet.  The deep resonating bass pushed through my heart and danced in my skull.  I wanted him more than I wanted to live and I could no longer remember why I couldn’t have him.  Why couldn’t the angel be mine?  Why couldn’t I have him and be happy?

    And then I allowed my hand to reach towards him, watching as his eyes went from felicity to horror.  He shook his head, lips parted in a hushed plead but I did not heed this warning.  I could not understand why I could not touch him, why this symphony continued only in my head.  It should be alive, it should sing to the heavens and keep company the lowly souls in hell.  It should set the world on fire with all the wonder and passion it may hold or perhaps allow the world to settle into peace with the tenderness it weaved.  I didn’t know what the melody would be, but I wanted it. 

    I reached to him, hand aching for the curve of his face.  Just as my fingertips brushed across his cheek, his body disintegrated and I fell into the nothingness that now was before me.  My eyes went wide as I looked up and found nothing.

    And then I sat up, cold sweat dewed on my brow as I discovered myself in bed.

    The sheets were wrapped around my legs and the comforter was on the ground in a tangled heap.  My body was slick with a chilled dread, eyes desperately wanting to cry and throat constricting for a reason I couldn’t understand.  It had just been a dream and nothing more and I wasn’t sure why I was so afflicted by it.  I swallowed and looked to my left, touching the picture of my mother and praying for strength before I took a look at the clock.  A heavy sigh escaped me as I shook my head and buried my face in my hands before running my fingers through my long coffee brown locks.  My eyes stung again and I wiped my nose.

    It was only four o’clock in the morning.

    I looked at my toes, wiggling them beneath the thin blanket and then growling as I threw myself back on my pillow.  I knew why I couldn’t sleep and why I was having such vivid nightmares.  It was six days before my best friend’s eighteenth birthday but it wasn’t that celebration which was upsetting me at the moment.  Today was the day that Andy’s parents were helping him move to Los Angeles, California.  I had Google mapped the distance that would separate us and was astounded at how wounded I had been by the huge number.  A whopping two-thousand one-hundred and seventy-five point six miles would soon be between us.  The void seemed to be creating an equally desolate place in my heart as I soon understood the gravity of his leaving.  Sure he would visit, but it wouldn’t be the same.  I wouldn’t mean the same thing to him and he would never know that I loved him.