Drip

Nemo has lived a long, long life. He remembers little of what came before, and struggles to remember the now too. 

He has always been someone’s. Never his own. His strongest desires, still subservient to those who call upon him, haunted by loss and pain, and at their beck and call. It hurt, sometimes. To be loved for what he could give them, and for the facade they craved. A lover, a child, a brother, a parent. He has been it all, and lost it all. Every single one ended in tears enough to fill the ocean, and to fill him with enough despair to cling to the next. To see their ends, to be haunted by what he cannot remember. A watery death is all that awaits for those who love him, and yet he cannot stop himself from loving, even as the end looms ever closer. 

But throughout it all, he remembers kindness, hope, and the dream of a  better tomorrow. He remembers gentle, rough hands rocking him to sleep,  cleaning his wounds and teaching him how to truly live. The only  expectation being that he love himself, for once. He misses her. His grandmother, his nonna. A smile, small and honest, with so much love that he can barely breathe. A kitchen with little in it, but enough love and laughter to fill up a broken heart. The sun and the wind, beating down on him as he picks the fruits of their labor, happy to simply be. It is his favorite memory, even as it slips from his fingers, little by little, and simply leaves him with the sweet taste of almond on his lips and the icy depths in his thoughts.

To lose and to forget is his greatest fear, and yet he cannot stop it from coming true.