locket.
sephiroth is the kind of guy you'd keep a picture of in a locket you wear going to war
you'll look at his picture and smile, the warmest tears you've ever shed rolling down your face, the only regret you die with being that you'll never get to see him again
he's the kind of beautiful that you see once and never forget, the kind that'll never be a memory, the kind that consumes, the kind you'd willingly be consumed by, the one and only
you'll die remembering his name and nothing more
wishing he was there
but he isn't. he arrives when you're already gone. too late.
on the pale snow, your blood spreads, a stream of crimson flowers blooming across the winter
on his pale hands, staining them a cruel red
too late
too late.
your hand clutches your locket with a passionate intensity, even in death.
and he cries, salty pearls, delicate, delicately gorgeous
his ethereality sits in the darkness of death,
an angel kneeling by your side
his silver locks liquid moonlight spilling across the white snow
his chapped lips whispering your name
sacred, lost
never to return
he brings your hand to his lips
a parting kiss
as he lies in the snow, unable to feel its coldness
next to you
and only you.
