Remembered With All My Broken Heart

By M.E. (Magnificent Entity)

I sit next the her, where she lays motionless on her-our-my bed. And I know. I always knew that this day would come, for better or for worse, I knew it would come.

 But that doesn't mean I have to accept it, to believe it.

Do you know what it feels like to have your heart broken? To have it wrenched violently into a thousand million pieces, broken like a pane of glass, unraveled like a fraying rug, burned to ashes like a fiery building? It is the pinnacle of pain, of suffering. And now- now I have to feel it.

For some reason I thought that we would be an exception to the cycle that everyone else lives through. I thought that, because of we are- what I am, what she was- we would be unaffected by the passage of time. That neither one of use would ever have to go through the pain of losing the other. I should have known better than to assume, you know what they say about people who make assumptions...

They try to reassure me, try to tell me that she will come back, that I will see her again, but they don't know the whole story. They don't know that she can't come back, that it wasn't her body that died, but her spirit. When a spirit dies, it won't- can't- come back. I will be forever alone now.

This can't affect me, I can't let it affect me, let it interfere with my work. My father is gone now, the family business has rested on my shoulders for several years now, and it is my responsibility to run it, to see it through.

Sometime I will have to take another lover, if only for a night. I will need an heir, someone to be there to take the brunt of the work when it is my turn to leave. But I will not love their mother, whoever they are, because once a heart has been broken like mine has, it never mends. A tear falls from my eye, slowly making its way down my face, falling from my chin, to fall to its final resting place, a solitary dark spot on her now-limp hair.

Centuries from now, from this day, this hour, this moment, I will be the only one who remembers her. While this thought crosses my mind, I cannot help but try to remember my own mother, the one I never knew. I know my father loved her, but I do not even know what she looked like, or what her name was. I doubt that anyone knows anymore, most likely my father was the only one who remembered her still, after so long, and took her memory to his grave.

 Maybe this is the curse of our family, to never be content, to always be wanting, always alone... Death is rarely happy, but now that I look at her I see that in death, she smiles, encouraging me to go on...

I will never forget you, nor will I forget how you changed the life of the King of the Dead. I, Enma Daioh, once called Koenma, will never forget your love, you laugh, you...

Sayonara, Botan...

...ai shiteru...

~Owari~