Aqua-Socks by Mallow / Mallow

Feb. 4th, 2003
Aqua. You’re dead. I wonder—did you realize it, or in that terrible moment did you not guess that you were passing through the void—leaving your body behind for us to find, as you kept on. You must have never known that when you got up, something didn’t follow you.

It was life, Aqua, that you left behind, but more than that, it was me, tied to it. That’s something I’m stuck with, Aqua, something you don’t have to put up with any longer—life. We found your body where you left it, Aqua. I picked it up and held it—but it wasn’t you anymore. And I think that’s why I cried, realizing you were so much more than just a handsome cat and—you were gone. Maybe you were there, but I couldn’t see it—I couldn’t even feel it—and I definitely couldn’t hold it. There was no weight in my arms, only in my heart, which was empty.

It’s funny, Aqua, how something empty can be so heavy—like your body. I held it for a long time, Aqua, and I tried to do right by it, but I don’t know why it mattered. It was you I wanted, and that’s life—trying. It is when I didn’t have the chance to try anymore that I realized I was never good enough—and you were. There’s a lot of things I regret about us, Aqua, loving you wasn’t one of them.
Not loving you enough, was.


Love doesn't die, Aqua,