Sometimes you will never know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory. It leaves a heartache no one can heal and love leaves a memory no one can steal.
WARNING: Character death.
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Breath pale against the numbing air, he blinked thoughtfully as the frost patiently kissed his face, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavy on his eyelashes. Harry adored the snow, more so when it was falling. The street looked like an unfinished painting; so much of the canvas still perfectly white, as if waiting for the artists' hand to return.
He had walked these streets his whole life, he knew them just the same as if they were etched in his head with a sharp knife, scored in deep like some strange work of art. These are the streets he grew up on and for the most part he was calm here, at home, on the down low with a steady heart beat. Not today though. His heart pounded like it's going to crack a rib.
The high-street bakery was quintessentially English. The sign above the window was peeling somewhat; white lettering curled on a blue background. The floor inside was white ceramic tiles that showed the wear of three decades worth of boots, trainers and high heels. No it didn't change a single bit. He sat near the windows at the back; their usual meeting place in the evening. He could imagine the feathery headed boy with gorgeous blue eyes walking through the door a charming smile on his face that could light up an entire room. Harry would make fun of him for the baby blue apron that the boy would wear and Louis would flip him off, with eyes filled with mirth. It was always mirth and love - nothing else.
Now louis is just a silhouette, as if he walked from a photograph and left behind blackness.
If Harry stops to dwell for even a fraction of a second his face is wet with tears. They roll silently through his cracked lips, salty and cold. He can never fathom why God would give him someone so good only to snatch them away again. It's a cruelty that the sun continues to rise, to welcome in each new day devoid of Louis' laughter or even his grumpy complaints and sarcastic commentary. He want Louis to leave his coat on the floor, leave candy covers on their bed and forget to take his dirty shoes off, leaving a dirty trail for him when he get home from work.
He kept his mind closed as if he could trap the memories inside. But once he opened it, every recollection would race towards him like a slap in the face, drenching him in a cold sadness.
After paying for the coffee which he didn't even touch Harry set off back down the street, the pavement still icy beneath his boots. His heart felt heavy and twisted within his chest, and he started to wonder whether or not this was a good idea. How is it that emptiness is the hardest burden to carry? He passed by the people talking on their cell phones, or rushing to work; all busy as if their current circumstances are larger than life. He had to hold back a bitter laugh, these people didn't know the real cruelties that life offer. Avoiding eye contact with the surroundings he continued to walk leaving fragments of the past behind him.
His next stop was a small house in a quiet neighborhood. It was strange, being here again after so long. Despite how long he had been away, he still remember everything about the place; the blue hydrangeas and daffodils planted in the front yard, the soft tinkling of the wind chimes that reminded him of summer afternoons. The blue paint on the door had faded since he had last seen it, but he still recognized it. It looked like the color of the sky before a bad storm.
Now someone else lived there, making it their home. He cringed at the thought. The thought of others living in the space where so much of their love, affection, and lust was exchanged. Once again all the memories that they created inside the house played like a song in his head, repeating itself for what seemed like forever.
