Work Text:
This is not a story. Trumpets will not sound, the world will not fall into mourning. I will not die in my son's arms, there will be no grand reconciliation. He will not wish that things could have been different, or if he does, he will tell none of it. He will not tell me that he loves me. Perhaps he does not.
This is not justice. He will never have to wonder. I cannot stop my own confession leaving my lips. He will not do the same for me. I will have no time to tell him how he wronged me. He will have an lifetime to convince himself that he did not. He will not turn to look at me. I cannot help but stare after him.
This is our farewell. This is my last.

.:, (Guest) Tue 17 Jul 2018 04:15PM UTC
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