My name left your lips like a promise. When you kissed me, butterflies escaped from your body into mine; this has to be what second chances feel like.

(It was as though I was witnessing the sun rise for the first time again & my God, the warmth it radiated couldn’t compare to the chance to love you in the way I always intended.)

In a way that’ll make you stay.. With every ounce of good in my soul, because baby you’re too beautiful to let this world make you cold. And this is the kind of love that those poets write about, a kind of chance that the broken hearted dream about, so if you’re going to accept it, cherish it.

(As cliché as this may be, this is the type of love that was made for you & me. My God, what I wouldn’t give to have my heart broken by you again.. They say mistakes only happen once so this time it’ll be my choice, a decision I’m making because It’s been a pleasure loving you in silence but I can’t take this distance.)

—  Even if it ends in tragedy, it’ll be worth it. (A collab with lifeascolleen )
It’s Not About Control

It started out innocent enough. Will would be unable to recall little things like what time he was supposed to be at rehearsals, he’d become more clumsy than usual, developed strange tics and an inability to sit still.

Of course, the pair of you thought little of it, chalking it up to the over-exertion of a touring lifestyle.

Which was precisely the reason you were so horribly unprepared for the real reason.

A trip to the doctor’s office two years ago left you and Will with more anxiety about the future than you’d ever thought possible. By then, you had figured out that his uncontrollable movements were nothing to discount (especially since they’d begun to affect his ability to play the bass), but you hadn’t imagined the diagnosis you were to receive.

Huntington’s Chorea: a hereditary disease marked by degeneration of the brain cells and causing chorea and progressive dementia.

That’s the nasty little definition that popped up when you googled the disease your fiancé – now husband – has. The clean, scientific description sounds nothing like the layman’s terms the doctor put it in for you. Essentially, no matter what you do, Will is going to lose control of his body and he’s going to forget. It’s inevitable.

Talk about a punch in the gut, huh?

Now you’re lying in bed with him, his head pressed against your shoulder as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, unable to stop the steady stream of tears that wet his cheeks. “I don’t wan’ ‘o forget you.”

His words are slightly slurred, in a manner that you could almost just attribute to him drinking a little too much, but that would be unfair to him. The quiet statement is enough to make you want to burst into tears yourself, but you don’t. You try not to let him see the toll this takes on you, to watch the person you love fall apart.

“You know there’s no use in worrying about it now, love,” you try to soothe him, pressing a kiss to his head. This is nothing you haven’t talked about before, the undeniable fact that he will never grow old, that there will most likely come a time he can’t even remember his own life.

“It’s already ta–aken my guitar, I won’t let it take yo’ too.”

“I know you won’t,” you murmur against his head.

Your own silent tears flow freely now because of how goddamn unfair this whole situation is. Will was at the height of his career with the boys, traveling the world and doing what he loves, only to lose it because his genetics are against him.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Will’s quiet voice draws you from your thoughts. “I love you, s-so much.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you look down into the grey eyes you’ve come to know so well, thanking whatever god there may be that there’s still recognition and love in them. “I love you too. You know I’m with you for better or for worse–”

“–In sickness and in health. Yeah, I still remember that bit, babe,” Will slurs slightly as he cuts you off, making light of the situation with a self-satisfied smirk.

You laugh softly with a nod, muttering, “Show off,” as you press a kiss to his lips, doing your best to ignore the fact that he’s repeatedly clenching and unclenching the hand that holds yours as you know he’s got no control over it.

Will leans his forehead against yours, eyes staying closed as he musters up enough resolve to force his mouth to comply with the words he wants to say.

“Thank you. For everything.” Grey eyes blink open to meet yours, searching for any hint of regret, though he finds nothing but the calm, affectionate smile he’s come to learn is reserved only for him.

You caress his cheek gently. “I’d do it all over again if it means having you around, William.”

Satisfied with your response, your husband lays his head back against your shoulder, holding you as close to him as his body will allow. You snuggle back into the mattress, content to cuddle with the love of your life despite the horrors that life has thrown at you.

It isn’t long before Will’s breathing evens out into a steady snore, eliciting a tired, but amused smile from you. You’ve never quite understood his ability to fall asleep immediately anytime and anywhere, and you must say you often find yourself quite jealous of the talent.

“You always take it further than I ever can…” you mumble to your sleeping husband.

With that, you’re left with nothing to do but beg Oblivion not to take him from you too soon.

~~~~~ Oblivion ~~~~~

Quintinshill rail disaster centenary

Today marks the centenary of The Quintinshill rail crash near Gretna Green, Scotland, true number of fatal casualties was never known but as many as  227 people perished, included in that number was four children who were never identified The Seventh Battalion of the Royal Scots was wiped out in the accident, the worst ever to happen in the UK. The cause was found to be the result of non-standard operating practices during a shift change at a busy junction. There are memorials over the weekend in Leith, Gretna and Larbert. Here is a link to a BBC programme with Neil Oliver telling the story

Things We’ll Never See Again

Your hands stay clasped together, resting on the sturdy wooden table in front of you.

Why did this all fall apart?

No more time for questions. The mediator stands before you and your seated husband – ex-husband.

You don’t know why, or how, it went up in flames. All you know is that it happened gradually, slowly. And it relieves you, as sad as it is.

You know this is going to affect your daughter more than anything. She’s a small, vulnerable five-year-old. And as much as it relieves you, it pains you to know how your child will forever be torn…

The woman before the two of you asks about any final statements before the inevitable sorting of money, custody, and the way your days will be for the remainder of your life. You throw a blank glance at him, keenly aware of the way you’re both sat apart as the life you had built with him burns at the pyre. You still remember the first time you met him.

He had such unruly long hair and he wore the bright smile of a winner. Something which faded as years of touring went by. He was lively, happy, and he had energy whenever he rested those grey eyes on you, kissing your cheek or sweeping you off your feet.

His face now lacks the sweetness it held before. Dark circles hang underneath the eyes that once enchanted you. Oh Woody, when you lose that spark?

You know you don’t love him anymore. The love you once held for him has shattered into ash and burned with the house of cards you both created. You filled the structure with memories of affection, which acted like furniture in the flimsy home.

Perhaps it was the constant touring, the feeling of loneliness that prompted you to file for divorce. You remember when it first started. Things weren’t that bad. He’d write to you – emails, texts, sometimes even postcards and physical letters – with loving, humourous words. They weren’t anything new, but you loved the words he used. They were just so Woody. You were convinced things hadn’t really changed.

But behind all of the smiles you two shared, it never changed the fact that he was never home, and he still isn’t. So that’s why your daughter will have to stay with you.

He looks at you with a remorseful look, as if all the other glances he’s given you throughout your relationship are discarded. He’s angry, in pain. But you’re relieved.

The metaphoric house you two built burned to the ground. No more semblance of love for him lies with you. And it’s sad, so, so sad.

But you’re okay.

That night, you hold your daughter in your arms, unsure of how she’s processing her father’s absence.

“Mummy?” she asks with a tune of a melody.

“Yes, my love?” you say quietly, a smile spreading to your face.

“When is Daddy coming home?”

You don’t answer for a few seconds. You know Woody is staying with Dan and his family for a while…

Your eyes begin to tear up, and you want anything but for your daughter to see.

“In a little while, honey,” you reply, rubbing your hands up and down her arms. She smiles innocently and resumes her humming.

How oblivious she is, not fully comprehending. But she’ll see Woody soon. Soon, soon…

~~~~~ Things We Lost in the Fire ~~~~~