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The moon shimmers, hung up in the night sky, luminescent and regal as frail clouds fog its subtly beautiful glow. It is a perfect night. A light breeze causes some darkened leaves to stray from their perch upon cracked branches and flutter down to the ground, swirling about in an airy whirlpool. But all of this beauty is unseen, unnoticed as a lone patron sits just inside the patio door of an oceanside mansion. His hands are clasped tightly around the neck of a guitar, knuckles white as tears begin to shimmer within his intense gaze. He clenches those overglossed green pools tightly, moisture ringing the edges of his eyelids. Not now� I can�t let them see me cry� That man is Daniel Jones, former half of Savage Garden, and now the only member. The only one left to remind the world of his epic� The guitar slowly slips from his hands as his fingers loosen, landing with a metallic *clang* upon the tile floor. Roughly calloused palms drift upwards to hide his face in shame, elbows resting on his knees. The tears begin to seep through the cracks betwixt his fingers as his story plays through his mind. After a few moments of silent remembrance, a shaky hand reaches out to pick up a pencil from the table in front of him; the other placing a paper within handwriting reach. It�s now or never� and if he doesn�t tell his story, then he knows no-one will. So with a saddened heart and blurry eyes, he begins to scribble out his legacy. It is the year two-thousand three, and the date is August seventeenth. The anniversary of Savage Garden�s separation� the day the band would reunite for more recording, and a last concert. The day I�d see *him* again. Him� Darren� just the thought of my beloved wrenches a hole through my stomach worse than any gunshot. A pain worse than death� Two long years without him, without us. It was two years of pure agony, our relationship on hiatus. But the thought of being with him again kept me alive. It kept me going when I was sure that the pressure would shatter me. It kept me warm when I thought the cold of bemusement would devour me. It kept me sane. Now, I don�t believe in Fate or Destiny, or anything of that sort� I don�t like the idea that my life has already been decided before I�m even born, but this makes me wonder� wonder if maybe we weren�t meant to be together. It makes me wonder if I should have found someone else� but, no. Darren was my world. He was my reason to open my eyes in the morning. But if �God� wants everyone to be happy, how come he shattered me by taking him? How come he removed the one thing in my life that was keeping me from ending it? Why? �God� must have a sick sense of humour. It was just six months before today� six months before all of the suffering would end and I�d be happy again. Six months before I�d finally be able to hold him in my arms and tell him �It�s over.� I longed for that moment� I prayed that soon, I�d be standing right along beside him, guitar in hand as we gazed out past the haze of glitter and into an audience. He�d be able to sing again� and I�d be able to breathe. But that wasn�t to be. There had been an accident� a terrible accident. Normally, that wouldn�t have bothered me. People die every day� people are born every day. There isn�t anything I can do about it. Just let life flourish and wilt on its own. But this had been different. This news was like being stabbed in the heart� like slowly drowning when my face was only inches from the surface� Unusually low temperatures and high moisture levels had made for a wet and dangerous winter all over the world, road conditions during some snowstorms being near-impossible to drive on, power frequently blacking out, spring rain flooding most low lying homes and buildings in areas below sea level. Especially in San Francisco, where a record blizzard had pelted the city with more than four feet of snow. More accident deaths had been attributed to weather this year than any other year in the city�s history. One of those casualties had been Darren. At first, the news had just numbed me. Shocked me so that I felt nothing� enveloped in a protective, stoic wall that kept everyone out. It must have been obvious to them that I cared for him� but even when I�d last seen Darren, we�d laughed and said they�d never accept it. Better to be narcotized than wanting to break down and cry. The others, Ben, Leonie, Karl� and a bunch of my friends, they all tried to help. They tried to understand what was going through my mind, but of course they couldn�t. And they still can�t. So, eventually, they all gave out on me. Figured that I�d eventually come to my senses and rejoin the world, forget about Dar- A loud sob escapes his mouth, wracks his body as he tries to hold it in. The pencil is dropped, leaving a long grey streak upon the paper as he resists the urge to cry out in anguish. Writing these words� It is as if Darren has died all over again. A few moments are taken for him to regain his composure. The messy scrawls upon the paper are now blurred from where hot tears have fallen to them, and from where more continue to fall. He wants to scream. He wants to smash his guitar into the floor. He wants to take the pencil and stab it through his heart. But, of course, he hasn�t finished the story. He has to keep on writing. Which brings me to this moment. I won�t dwell on the funeral (I�m sure the eulogy was lovely, but I was too busy crying), nor will I dwell on the fact that even thinking of this event eats me from the inside out. I will, however dwell on the fact that I am writing for the final time. Where I�ll go after this, I don�t know� perhaps I�ll find this journal again and read it over, then burst into a whole new fit of agony. Perhaps a friend will come to see me, and discover this when they also discover I�m nowhere to be found. Perhaps this �letter� is reaching you, Darren, wherever you are. But I can�t count on that. I know that you know� somehow� and I�ll take a gamble on that. But this is just a piece of paper that has no voice, and is void of emotion. And though it may convey some sense of what I�m feeling, believe me, it doesn�t come close. I�ve matured more in the last six months than in my entire life, and only in writing this do I realise the fact. Whether that�s a good or a bad thing, I�ll decide later. So, for now, goodbye to whomever is reading this. Goodbye to Karl, Lee, Ben, Leonie, Anna, Elisa, Angi, and anyone else I�ve forgotten. Goodbye to Darren. Goodbye to Mum, Dad, and the rest of the gang. See you around sometime, ok? He needs a breath of fresh air. After what seems like ages, it�s finally down on paper. Everything he needed to tell the world, right there in front of him. And it�s relieving, to say the least. He figures that he�ll go and grab a burger, perhaps see a movie, or anything to get his mind off of the task later� but for now, he walks out onto the balcony. The night air chills him lightly as his gaze shifts upward towards the stars, which reflect back as shards of silver floating amidst that sea of jade inside his eyes. And for a long moment, he just stares. Slowly, his vision drifts back down to the balcony, continues dropping until he�s staring at the frothy sea below the cliffs. A sheer drop, and the height makes him somewhat dizzy, as it always does. The tears inside his eyes burn with the chill. Unusually cold for August, and the leaves, he notices, are already fluttering from the trees. But he doesn�t see the scene as beautiful. How could he? Perched there on the balcony of the house he�d bought to be closer to Darren� the gesture in vain, of course. No matter how close he lives, he always feels the separation between them. The separation that should have only lasted for two short years� and instead will last forever. It rips through him like a knife. With one last moment to stare at the sea, it seems as if some outside force is pulling his chin upwards, pulling his gaze to the sky. He can almost feel a pair of arms wrapped around his waist, and he can hear a familiar voice whispering honey-sweet words into his ear. �Soon, we�ll be together, my love� only six more months� six months�� And he smiles. Bending down ever-so-slightly, his hand wraps about the �Future� strap attached to his guitar. The conduit to his emotions. Music. He doesn�t dare even breathe as he sets the strap across his chest so the instrument rests against his back. It feels so right, resting there. Second nature for him. The perfect way� An unseen wisdom shines through those vernal green irises as they once again lock upon the moon. He grasps his lover�s hand as he quietly murmurs, though it seems as though no-one is there. The moon seems to shine especially for him. The wind whistles a familiar melody as he stares, becoming lost in the hypnotic rhythm of the waves pounding against the cliff at his feet. The chill of the wind is forgotten as he listens to the whispers, unheard by the world but enshrined by him. Hands reach out and clasp the balcony tightly as he turns his head to one direction, canted so that it looks as if he�s listening to someone. Within the comfort of his illusions, he feels invincible. And as he hears the words, a faint smile creeps up his lips. That smile doesn�t falter as he nods and whispers a loving reply. �You�re right, Darren. The moon *does* look beautiful tonight.� And he jumps. |
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