This is just something I wrote because I wanted to write something that wasn't just a fanfic. It'll most likely become that. Just hold on a read this short story I wrote.
"I miss you, I miss everything.
I miss the bugs you gave me, specifically the bites; they left me memories with the itches and pain. The pain didn't last long, just a quick bite. It woke me in the middle of the night and so I never slept. I never wanted to sleep, I wanted a call from you. You rarely answered but I rejoiced and loved it when you did. The feeling of abandonment was gone when you were around and I wish it could always leave, be put back on the shelf and stay there in the soil reaching to a dead flower. I watched it sit there from my chair late nights by the computer, I always wished it would grow back. Like my hopes and trust. You knew my trust was never full, as was the cup of water that I poured into the flower's soil. It slowly became less and less. I still miss-".
The writer paused before he started to regret this letter. It didn't mean anything, he couldn't send it, unless grave sites had a post. She was a dead memory, getting eaten and turned into soil, not specifically potting soil, but soil. That dead flower was his only real memory. He still remembered the day she got it for him, it was cold and he felt if he had been outside any longer he would have froze. She became the summer heat, warming him with her eyes and heart as he watched her cross the street. Holding that plant, the same plant that sat on the shelf, now staring at him. He was angry, sofisticated anger pouring out of that flower. He turned away and got up from the old chair his mom has given him. He turned his head to the floor, shaking that idea out of his head. That couldn't possibly make sense. The man sat back down after a minute, gripping the chair a little, it was falling apart, like his mind. He heard a noise and turned to the flower, it spoke, brisk and angry.
"Tell me everything. You know how this story goes, so tell me everything. Tell me the tiny details and the cracks in it. Tell me everything."
The man turned back to the paper and wrote.
