Kissing Bruises

Rubbing my finger against the photograph, I sighed. The image was fresh in my mind. The hues were replicated perfectly even if the photo was colorless.

"Hello dear," a voice called to me from the doorway. My lips pursed. In another world, the voice of my lover would elate me and I would embrace his arrival.

But that was not my world.

My world was drenched in blood. Smoke tailed up around me. Screams and cries pounded in my ears. Sighing, I folded the photo and put it away.

"Hello."

"What was that?"

"Just an old letter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I replied, barely a whisper. The minute he opened his mouth, I knew what would come.

"Okay, if you need to talk to me, let me know. Still, I need you to come with me." I hummed, knowing fully well where my fate would take me. Barely thinking as I followed him outside.

We piled into the car. The journey blurred before my eyes. Eventually, the destination became clear.

Pollux opened the door and helped me out. He slipped his hand into mine as we went to the wretched spot.

The grave mocked me the longer I looked. Pulling my face away, bitter tears pricked my eyes. I heard Pollux try to muffle a sob. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"Castor," he mumbled.

"I know."

"I miss him so much," he rasped.

"I know. I do too." I felt my voice cracking. A river of tears ran down my face. Wiping my eyes, I felt Pollux pull my face to his.

The kiss was temporary. There was a small part of me that was comforted by the gesture. I slowly felt myself growing bitter over the sweet gesture. Pollux frowned. I wiped his tears. It wasn't his fault. His gesture was kind. The world made it feel like a bruise.