Frequencies [Translation]

Frequencies

Note:this is a translation of a story of mine, published in Italian on Wattpad and EFP. I know my English isn't perfect, since i've only studied it at school, but i wanted to improve myself in something different. If you notice some mistakes, please tell me, so i'll be able to correct them.

I wrote this fic before watching the s7 and yeah, i wasn't ready and i didn't know a lot of things, like [spoiler] Adam's death. I'm still crying in a corner.

Last thing, i suggest you to listen to Paradise Circus by Massive Attack while you're reading.

Enjoy.

Frequencies

In the end, he goes for real, and you don't even know how to feel.

Maybe you miss him, waking up every morning and find him in front of you,but it's easier to pretend you don't care.

How, you repeat, the sour taste of those words that slides down your throat, it stops you until you almost can't breath anymore and youcan only pray in something you don't even believe in, how important am i to you?

Your last conversation was a fight, even if it didn't look like one. You were too cold and he was too tired even to set up a decent act.

You had not gone to see the shuttle rising up toward the cosmos.

It would have hurt, maybe, but it probably was just a way to give yourself that last piece of reality.

(You adjust the frequencies to the indifference, because it's the right thing to do, because you did not count that much and you want him to be no less)

The news turns quickly, and in a short times it comes to you too.

Pilot error. It is possible, you reason, but you don't want to believe at those words that scoffs you, white on black in the Garrison's files,  just as you don't want to listen to your thoughts.

Missing. And something in you cracks, until it shatters like glass.

And the last words you addressed to him were full of hate. And.

Think, but i love him.

Think, i hope he's dead.

Think, where.

(the frequencies change without you wanting it, and you don't even know what they represent now. You're empty, so empty that you risk to explode at any moment. You want to scream but you can't help but tremble while you slide on the floor holding your head in your hands)

And then you wait, like one of those damn war widows.

You wait staying up at night, the gaze focused at the sky, trying to reach who knows what.

You wait while you scratch the back of your hand in desperate search of a way to send all of this away, you wait destroying yourself secondo by second, 'cause that's not how it was supposed to be and that's not how it was supposed to end.

You wait until Samuel Holt appears at your door- we can't trust the Garrison, he says- and he talks about what he knows, what he saw, and the horror is still impressed in his eyes.

Then, maybe, everything seems to return to its order and for the first time in years really open your eyes.

Takashi.

(The frequencies gets back to their place, like they were always supposed to be if only you hadn't been so blind, and you can afford to hope. It's not over yet.)