"Long"

It sat on the shelf, conveniently placed behind a stack of maps so he wouldn't have to look at it. He didn't have to see it for it to remind him. His memory reminded him enough. He contemplated burning it, but couldn't bring himself to destroy something so precious. It smelled of her. Her scent was intertwined with every stoke of the pen on the piece of paper. Every letter mocked him. They told him he could smell and pretend all he wanted, but he could never really have her.

She had written to him, asking him to return. How she knew where he was, he didn't know. He didn't even know where he was.

He had spent a whole day reading it; every word had been dear. He could repeat it from memory, but now he wished he had never opened the envelope.

His mind plagued him with vicious thoughts. Every idea was a blow to his heart. He tried to scream to silence them, but the screams just whispered out. He felt helpless against himself.

He knew she meant well, she couldn't have imagined what her simple words could do. Coming from anyone else, the words would have fallen meaninglessly from their lips. From her, they hit so hard that it stung.

She only wanted him to come back. He didn't know why, and that was what hurt the most. If she didn't want him for the same reason, it would destroy him and it was the pain he couldn't heal from.

He didn't return. He didn't want to be alone.

---

"Willingly"

He left it on the floor by his chair, having read all he could stand for one day. The previous owner of this cabin had left a leather bound notebook on a shelf. Inside, Logan had found poetry, recordings of dreams and daily activities.

It was the poetry that he was fond of. He had developed a routine of reading a poem in the morning before his workout. Normally, while the poem was calming to read, it wouldn't exactly stick in his head. This morning was different.

He couldn't concentrate enough to make his workout worthwhile, so he decided to take a walk instead. It was winter now and the snow had come. A layer of white had replaced the blanket of leaves on the forest floor. The opening stanza to the poem continued to repeat through his thoughts.

"When I was just a young boy my mama said to me 'Don't fall in love willingly.'"

He didn't remember his mother. He didn't have fond memories of fresh cookies, bedtime stories or kissed scratches. He could never tell his children about their grandmother. He didn't have any motherly words of wisdom. She had been stolen from him along with the rest of his childhood. It hurt more than any of the testing ever could.

But with Marie, he felt like he could ease that. If she told him that she loved him, then he would gladly follow her wherever she went. He stopped that idea before he got carried away. He was the first to admit that he wasn't good enough for her. There were plenty of kids at the mansion her age that she'd be happy with. It was best for him to just fade away.

So he continued to walk, despite the growing winds. The memory of her was enough to keep him warm.

---

"Light"

She told herself that it wasn't her fault, that she couldn't continue to blame herself. She just wished she could believe it. She still acted like a schoolgirl every time someone said his name. A rush of feelings would sweep over her all at once. She felt his strength. She didn't know how something that seemed so right could make her so sad.

She had daydreamed about what it could be like, but as time passed, so did the dreams. She knew that keeping the false hope alive would only continue to eat away at her. So, she decided that she had to stop. She felt like she had wasted all that time on something that would never happen.

In the back of her mind she still wished it would happen. She still watched the road for a sign of him as she passed by a window. She knew that it couldn't be mutual. He could live without her. He would move on.

She wasn't as strong, but she was stubborn. If he wouldn't open up to her, then she wouldn't let anyone. She didn't want to let herself feel this way again. She didn't want to have the false hope. So she closed herself off.

She was scared that she would never hold him again, that she would never look into his eyes again. She told herself that it wasn't her fault, that she couldn't continue to blame herself.

---

"Change"

The thick blanket of snow had all but disappeared under the late spring sun. The days were growing longer as the season prepared to change into summer. He was prepared for a change too. The winter he spent alone had given him ample time to think. It had been a long winter.

He sipped his coffee and settled down in his dusty leather chair to read some poetry out of the journal. The sunlight snuck through the half closed blinds on the window and highlighted the words on the page. The words seemed to glow and sparkle as through they felt pressured to perform underneath the spotlight.

He had long since finished the poetry left by the previous owner, so he started to write his own poetry. It was nothing special, but it came from the heart. They were his thoughts, a small part of his mind. He liked to read what he had written. It gave him a sense of direction and progress.

This morning was different. He took another sip of coffee before pulling a pen out of the pocket on his shirt. He found his last poetry entry and turned to the next blank page. He sat staring at the beams of sunlight before setting the pen to the page. He wrote his last entry, only one line, only three words.

"I'm going home."