Dean POV
You are seven years old. Your bare feet pound the dirt and your laughter echoes in the trees. The sun streaks the leaves and bounce of the water like diamonds. Your hair sticks to your forehead but you don’t notice. You are running, sweat dripping down your face. He is catching up. He can hear your laughs, he’s coming for you. You both crash down and rustle in the leaves. He is on top of you and you both laugh and roll in the leaves and you know you will be forever young.
You are twelve years old. The heat of the sun beats down and you stare at his lips. You jump of the pier and splash him. He scowls and your heart beats faster. Then when you're not looking he jumps on you and you both sink down. You don’t have time to run before he is on you and you taste the clear green water, you shield your eyes but you peek through. The sun in his hair, the water at his back and your stomach explodes. He is beautiful.
You are sixteen years old. You smoke just to annoy him and he teases you constantly.The sun peaks up in the west. You both lay on your back and stare up at the intricate swirls of colour in the early morning Autumn. He says something but you don’t hear. You turn your head and raise your eyebrows and he laughs. You sit up, he is so beautiful. He lifts himself up and places his hands either side of your face. Your eyes are closed. You breath in the smell of his tousled hair and pine tree scent and open your eyes. It is the most magnificent sight you have ever seen. Prettier than the swirls in the sky or the stars in the night. His sun kissed cheeks. His eyes as blue as the ripple in the river you swam in as children. His eyebrows are quirked up in worry, you take control. You grab his face and press your lips to his and you feel complete. Your lips stay moulded together as manoeuvre his back against the autumn leaves and climb on top of him. You break away panting. Both grinning. He is yours and you his.
You are nineteen years old. The sun is just setting on the tall trees. You are both in your swimming trunks both sweaty and puffed. You raced him back to your blanket on the leaves, he won of course. He stood there panting, hands on knees then within seconds doubled over when he sees you. Your hair is slicked back mockingly and he comes up in front of you and runs his hands through it. You pout and complain that you liked it. He growls at you a gleam in his eye. You take a couple of steps back but he pounces on you, meeting your lips and moaning. It is you who growls now. But before you can decide better you jump up and runs in between the trees, his laughter echoing in the trees behind you. You see him running, he's catching up, he was always faster; and he turns his head, his laughter contagious, he runs level with you and captures you hand in his as you run. You shake your head as you both slow to a jog because he’s so stupid and so are you because you are the one head over heels in love with him.
You are twenty one years old. When you both sit with your feet dangling over the pier. You want to push him in but you know he’ll kill you. Both of your pants are rolled up, shoes discarded at the beginning of the pier. You reach for his hand and he offers it up without turning his head from the setting sun. The light dances on the water, which glistens already in the spring heat. You slip the ring on. He still doesn’t turn his head and you breathe heavily. He tells you, again without turning, that he hasn’t said yes yet. You feel the panic and rejection bubbling inside. When he finally turns there is a smile on his face and tears in his eyes and you let yourself breathe. He pins you down and tells you to never leave him. You smile and shake your head because you know thats never going to happen.
You are twenty three years old. And then the sun doesn’t shine and the rain pours. There is no more laughter in the leaves, no more splashing in the river. Winter lasts forever and the Autumn leaves are no longer beautiful. Because he is gone. You held him, for so long, but death was always just a silent companion in your life together. All you can do is cry. Cry for the little boy that laughed in the leaves and thought that he was forever young.
You are twenty seven years old. The sun is hidden. You know it is there yet the clouds hide its light. You lay in the Autumn leaves, your heart tight in your chest and tears already present on your cheeks. You wipe them away and your chest heaves and you curl up in a ball and the tears won't stop. You think about these leaves, and the trees and the pier and the river, all embodied with memories of him. You think about his laugh that echoed in the trees, and you think about how his eyes shone like diamonds. You think about the sun that rose in the east and set in the west. And then you are seven and twelve and and sixteen and nineteen and twenty one all over again. And he is everywhere and he is so beautiful. And you let yourself cry. Because he was always chasing you and now you are only chasing a memory.
