Somewhere in the back of my mind I always knew I wasn't cut out for this - the whole notion of loving and receiving love in return truly is the hardest thing I've ever done, and probably one I'll always look back to and wonder if it was truly worth it. I promised myself that I'd never hesitate to fly away to paradise, but now I feel as if my heart isn't the only one worth considering. If I am responsible for the downfall of another, how can I ever expect to become an agent of change? And not just any change, but the one that awakens the slumbering and sets ablaze those who thought themselves long forgotten. I dreamt of a world beyond my comprehension, yet I've been given one that's harshly real. One fraught with all the choices in the world and in the same instant, no choices at all. One I can't escape from without doing what's been done to me, without becoming the boy I swore I'd never be.
"It is not yet your time," she whispered. "It's not yet the place," she mumbled. "It too shall come," she tried to scream, yet her voice was swallowed whole by the echo of the past. They both knew it was only a matter of time until it caught up, until it could no longer be ignored. First it started with her. It conjured images of what she has done, and what she failed to do. Soon there was only a fraction of her left, and as she started to dissipated into the abyss, you could feel her tears tearing through the veil of the undying. It crept up to him - slowly at first, then all at once. He knew there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, nothing he could change. All there was left was to face his spectres, and hope he's left standing once they're done.
