fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

[This is the first time I’ve tried writing a story based on music. If you’d like, listen to the song as you read. Lyrics are here.]

You Won’t Fall to Pieces

When winter came howling in, its winds rattling my windowpanes and knocking on my door, its snows falling from the sky and erasing all colour from the world, I left to find you.

“Don’t come back,” you had warned me. “I need time. I need to find who I am. When I do, I’ll come find you.”

That had been back when summer was still new, when flowers were just coming into bloom and the air hummed with insects coming back to life. I had stayed away while the months passed, while the trees turned red and gold and the air turned cold. I had stayed away, but I hadn’t forgotten about you; I still thought about you, every day, until my heart ached, until I couldn’t stand to miss you any longer.

My breath misted in front of me as I walked. It was early still, and white frost clung to the tree branches and white fog crawled along the ground. My feet crunched against a carpet of dead and fallen leaves.

I knew where you’d be, and as I walked I called to you: “Please. Come back. I’m here. I miss you. I need you.”

When I reached our clearing, I sat on the remains of a long-fallen tree to wait.

You were slow and coming and, when you did, you were silent; I looked up and suddenly you were there, an ethereal princess. Your dark brown hair floated down around your pale face, and a deep sadness reflected in your large, dark eyes.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you said quietly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

“I’m not ready yet,” you whispered, tears coming to your eyes. “I’m not ready to go home.”

I reached out to take your hand, pulling you towards me. Slowly, you sat down on the fallen tree, and I wrapped my arm around you slim, shaking shoulders. “It’s alright,” I said. “You don’t have to.”

“I didn’t think it would take this long,” you said brokenly. “I’ve spent so much time searching, and never finding anything…I thought that by now I’d know…”

“It’s alright,” I murmured again. “You can take as much time as you need.”

“I’m so empty, and so lost…I feel so broken and so used, and how can I expect to find myself when I don’t know who I am?”

I shifted so I was facing you; I placed a finger under your chin and turned your head so you were forced to look at me. Tears were running down your cheeks, and I wiped them away with the pad of my thumb. “Listen to me,” I said softly. “You are perfect. You don’t deserve to be hurting over this.”

You said nothing; you twisted your head away from me and stared into your lap, more tears falling from your eyes.

You never had told me what had happened all those months ago, and I never asked. I understood that in time you would tell me, when the wound had started to heal over and every word didn’t feel like it was tearing you apart.

“It’s alright if you don’t know what you need,” I said, “but I know that I need you. And it’s alright if you need time, but I want to be here for you. I don’t want you to have to go through this alone.”

Still you said nothing, but I thought now that it was because you couldn’t; your body was shaking like an earthquake and your breath sounded like a hurricane, and you had buried your face in your hands. I pulled you against me and held you tightly, and I rocked us back and forth and whispered in your ear.

You were healing and fragile and perfect, and I was determined not to let you break apart again.

“It’s alright,” I whispered, over and over. “It’ll be alright.”

And slowly your shaking stopped, and your sobs no longer sounded like they were tearing you to pieces. You raised your head and looked at me with sad, watery eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said hoarsely, “that I can’t give you what you want. Not yet.”

It hurt, knowing that after all I’d given you, after how much I’d loved you, you were unable to return any of it.

“Maybe,” I said, trying not to let my voice shake, holding on desperately to this one last chance, “you can.”

“How?” you whispered.

“Maybe you’ve been looking for yourself in the wrong place. Maybe you shouldn’t be out here, alone; maybe you should be home. With me.”

You looked at me, silent, and so beautiful it hurt. I could see a denial in your eyes.

“Please,” I begged, “come home.”

Still you said nothing; you only looked at me with that dark, penetrating gaze. Then you stood, and took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. You drew me into your embrace, as if I was the one who was broken and healing. You stood up on your toes to whisper in my ear.

“Okay,” you said. “For now.”

And I smiled, and my heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest; and maybe this wasn’t the answer to everything we both wanted and needed, but it would be enough.

For now.