There I stood, helplessly waiting. The minutes merged with the hours; the days translated into the nights; the weeks melded into months. It all began to look the same without him.

"I've been having these dreams, Frank," He whispered into my ear when we were alone, gloriously alone, under the cover of darkness.

I knew that waiting was useless, there was nothing for me to wait for, not anymore, An alien feeling it was - anticipation. These days were filled with nothing but stark hopelessness. That's all the world was - hopeless - without him.

I woke to the sounds of his terrified shrieks; he was only scaring himself.

The view was so unspeakably gorgeous from up here. Even without his matchless beauty, it was - it could stand on its own. But perhaps I could see its serene artistry still because it held a piece of Gerard, at least in my memory; it was his favorite place to watch the sun set and the stars dance - it was his favorite place to be with me. It was still my favorite place, though it would forever be empty without him.

"Shh," I cooed, praying that I could help him through this night terror. "It's going to be alright, Gee. It was only a dream, baby. It was only a dream."

"Only a dream" is a pathetic expression, if you think about it. Dreams hold more power over people than the world seems to realize. Dreams are ultimately one's subconscious talking to him, telling him, urging him. Dreams are a powerful substance, but I wouldn't know, I wouldn't dream anymore. Without him.

"I was standing by our - by our spot, Frankie." He stuttered out in between haggard breaths of air. I shuddered at his obvious turmoil.

"What happened next, darling? You can tell me." I stroked his long black hair, remembering how soothing it was when he did it for me.

The blanket of stars above me wrapped me up in its cold vengance; if only there was a way that I could escape its chilling embrace. Yes, the stars ar glorious, but not without him. Nothing is glorious without him.

He was the only glory the world had - the only glory it needed.

"It - it's always the same Frankie. I'm standing there, half of my feet off the edge. And then you're calling to me." He looked at me then, tears in his hazelnut eyes. "Your voice is so pretty, Frankie."

My eyes stung at the memory, and a singular droplet of saltwater tears landed on my dirty converse - the ones he used to wear - that were percariously halfway off the edge of the towering office building. I would never be able to get rid of his things, especially his shoes. For some reason his shoes brought me closest to him, though his was so far away. They were a scrapbook of his travels, his adventures, and his work. They were a testament to his wild spirit. But now they were just shoes, just shoes without him.

"Gerard, it's only a dream. It can't hurt you." I brought my voice down to a whisper and brought my nose to his so that I could stare straight into his flickering orbs. "I won't let it hurt you. Not as long as I live."

If only I had known.

"Gerard! Stop! What are you doing?!!" I yelled to him frantically. I had found him atop the buidling, in our favorite spot, after I had woken up without him by my side. He turned to face me, his shoulder-length hair whipping his face.

"Your voice is so pretty Frankie," He sighed, allowing his tears to flow freely for the first time since I had known him.

"Gerard!" I called out to him, stumbling forward as quickly as I could.

If only I had known that his dreams would become reality.

I tripped over my own two scared feet, and consequently fell to my knees. I reached out for him, knowing how the story ended, how the scene played out, but unwilling to accept it. My own tears pelted the ground like the rain that was supposed to come, but never showed.

"Don't do this!" I screamed, my voice hoarse. "Gerard!" He turned only his head this time. "I love you!" I searched his eyes, his face, his body, for some sign of consideration, of hesitation.

"I love you too," He said lowly, his own voice cracking with agony and exhaustion. He turned his back to me and, a slight as the wind that carried his raven-black hair, stepped off the ledge, just like in his dreams.

I was standing here, just as he was not an hour before. I had recounted our entire time together; I had thought of everything I possibly could, in order to remember him. His shoes, the ones I had grabbed on my way out of his house to find him, were slipping closer and closer to the thin air, as if by their own accord.

The rain was finally here, and I was glad. It was fitting, yes, but it also meant that the sunrise would be shunned from my view. I didn't want another sunrise without him.

And so I was, without him, without me, without sun, tumbling down after his lifeless body. Whether he knew it or not, he was not the only one with dreams of the edge. What he dreamed, I dreamed. What he was, I was. Because without him, there was no me,

Notes

You should listen to "The Drugs Don't Work" by The Verve as you read this. That's what I listened to (on repeat) as I wrote this. That is how it should be read. If you didn't, re-read it with this song on.

I don't know why I have this preoccupation with Frank watching Gerard die.

I hope this isn't too shitty, as I wrote it really quick before I have to go to work (in like 15 minutes).

xoBunny.