How We Deal With Misery

3: Stasis [through dreams]

Stasis: Pre.

Her face was smooth. There were no worry marks, no furrowing of eyebrows. No sadness, no trouble. But without yin, there is no yang. Therefore, there was no smile on her face, no glimmer of delight in her amber flecked eyes. Even those windows to her soul looked dead.

Perhaps it was safe to assume that she was dead. But no, she has yet to join the void. She still clings to life, yet it does not make him feel hope. No, nothing inside him could hold on to hope. Hope was but a lingering dream, long gone yet too delightful to completely forget.

Her fragrance also lingered. Honeysuckle sweetness, tainted by his dullness. There will never be anything more than the space of nothing he created in his sorrow.

She--no, he. He clung to life as he held her soul, not wanting to let go, not wanting it to end. And yet, he knew it was long over. Perhaps he made that empty space, that nothingness, to offer up to her. It did not suit her one bit, but he had nothing more. He lost it all when he lost her.

Depression was too kind a word to describe how he felt at the thought of spending his lonesome eternity without her. Still, he lifted his head. And upon his once handsome face, a grin broke out, though it made him look even sadder.

It did not quite reach his eyes, and he looked as dead as the goddess he put in stasis right in front of him.

***