She has never had accomplishments to speak of. She lived in the time of legends—of Kings and Queens like her mother. Of those who had writ themselves into the history of this land. The history that had not faded away with time, that had not been washed away with the passing of centuries or even when the lands themselves had dissolved into oblivion. But she herself had not risen to such heights. She had never desired titles or power. Had never desired that her name be passed down from generation to generation.
She had just wanted love.
Just wanted this.
He is everything, she thinks. The beginning and the end of her. The entirety of it. She had walked into the ocean at his side to cement it—to die doing that which was the only thing that mattered to her.
More than her children.
More than their children.
More than their children’s children.
She could have been a mother, could have found the love she so deeply desired in raising them, but she had never wanted that either. It had been him. (And Cancer before him, although that was such a weak and feeble love when compared to Garbage.) She would give herself entirely to him in this moment again.
“I love you too,” she whispers into the sleek curve of his neck, made young again. She explores the muscle underneath it, the way that it feels so soft and sweet. So unlike the aged man she had faced death with before—but rather the man she had first met so long ago. “I will always love you.”
Forever, she thinks.
Until death. Through death. In death.
I reached out to undress it and love let me down
@[garbage]