Her lips tasted of salt and possibility.
Clutching her tightly to his chest, he wept. Lifting her from the ground he pressed his forehead against her own and tried to remember the way it felt when she breathed and blinked at him curiously.
He had been too late to save her. Too late... too late...
"Stay with me!" He had screamed, shaking her viciously to keep her from closing her eyes forever. She could only give him a pained smile, a caress to his face and words he had once been to cowardly to return. So, he pressed a feverish kiss to her lips, hoping it would be enough to revive her but it was too late. Her eyes closed and he knew they would never open, and his bitter tears kissed the lips he had hoped would never cease moving.
Her lips tasted of salt and love lost... and he wept.
How's that bit of angst for you?
Anyway, I was listening to Yoko Shimomura's City of Flickering Destruction when this image popped into my mind. I just HAD to draw it out...
Cha, I know. Depressing, innit? I know I've promised a lot to a lot of people, and I'll get to that. trust me.
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