[Prompt: She was all of the light I had in the world (or he) ]
“Time heals all wounds,” she had said as the wind blew her golden hair, obscuring her beautiful features as I tried to savor the last sip of her presence. Like a complex wine that needs repeated tasting to discern the components, I could never quite get enough to describe her. I had spent a century in a drunken stupor at her side, my thirst for her had never been quenched. I was still thirsty.
I had been unsure if she meant for her statement to be cruel then, only later realizing the irony of her final words. The idea that time heals wounds only applies to one that counts time. Time is meaningless to an immortal.
The dryness of my mouth was a constant annoyance as I trudged down the dirt road among the sparse autumn trees. The crunching leaves beneath my boots matched the rhythm of my steady breath, continuous and predictable. My worn cloak swayed back and forth as I continued down the pathway towards the unknown. My body moved with purpose, as though I had a destination in mind. But my appearance was misleading.
Many mortals cannot understand what it is to never be hungry, not need sleep, or deal with any necessary bodily functions. Mortals exist being slaves to their body’s needs and demands. A farmer must work to provide food for his family to eat. A mother must sleep so that she can tend to her children. I had never needed to eat or sleep. I had never needed to drink for that matter. But then I had met Millisandra.
Her eyes were a bottomless well of desire. Her lips full of eagerness. Her cheeks flushed with need. Her golden hair shone with warmth. Her voice beckoned to my thirst. The moment I laid eyes on her I began to drink, and for one hundred years I never stopped.
Her final words had been foolish. To propose that her absence would be a wound was insulting. To predict that time would heal the chasm in my chest was absurd. I didn’t have a wound. I had a missing appendage.
Pain can be more than the fleeting sensation experienced when you are cut. Pain can be more than the tears shed when sadness descends. True pain is when you lose something you can’t replace. When you lose someone you can’t forget. When the aching in your chest is magnified by every breath you take without them by your side. You can see the seed of the pain, the moment you realized it was all changing. But that seed is buried beyond your reach, and now it’s tendrils are growing to invade every crevice of your mind, every action of your body.
I tried to ignore the sound of my lone steps. I tried not to think of her soft touch as the wind caressed my face. I tried to ignore the dryness in my mouth.
I continued forward without a beacon to guide me. The world had lost its color, and I sensed only darkness ahead. She was all the light I had in the world, and now she was gone.