Title: forever walking alone
Fandom: Tokio Hotel
Torque: tom / bill
Prompt: 030. death
Rating: PG-13
and December snows, to Loitsche. It's cold, is pretty damn cool. Do not you leave the house for "a walk", but this is the excuse that you have served up to yours, and they pretended to believe. To you, the cold does not care: Do not you feel it more now. You no longer feel the wind blowing against you, making you eyes water; you no longer feel the snowflakes that you settle in your hair and insistence on the jacket, so wide that you could easily do from the deck. No, you do not hear anything.
Stay there, sitting on the grass, infringing jeans that mush that is not snow, and that your mother will be hell to hair, when they put in the washing machine, you stay there, sitting on the grass, leaning with back to the stone, however, the devil does the hair come to you. It is bare, bare: there is a name written on it. There is his name written on it. Bordered by a boundary of brass, over which there is a picture that does not makes it justice at all: he was not so, that's not her smile, there is nowhere near. Further down, just above the edge of the frame, in the right corner, there are two dates: continue to haunt us, undaunted. That's your life, and that of your death. Numbers are just numbers, I tell you thousands and thousands of times in the head but they are a tangible, unequivocal. They are there, in stone, and continue to be to slap in the face that takes you back to reality, making you constantly aware that there is no going back. But you'd like, all right: you would like to get on his knees, picking up a box of colors, as you did children, and pull a Rigacci above on that date. The cancellation, line upon line, as you did when you did not like how I drew the face of the mother, and all would be resolved. That date would never have existed, and now I'll still have all the time in the world before. Would you have time to laugh, to play, to go around clubs and the small hours, to argue and then make peace. But it does not work like that, you know.
mumbled something, the items covered by the collar of the vest that hold up to the cheeks, and you wonder even when the words will come out with a spontaneity and a carefree childhood elementary school: you do not tremble as the throat, when you're there, and do not know whether to be relieved or if dovertene despair. Speaks for itself, speak for hours, as you always have the arm moves, calm, and the hand touches up and down the contours of the stone, and automatic in the same way it was done on his arm if he had been there with you: you do not realize the fingertips and knuckles almost white with purple because of the wind. Go on, undaunted, talking and talking, smiling at some memory, and even respond to the questions that you alone, if necessary, laughing, when you make some silly joke, and your own laughter echoes in my ears as if you were someone else: is unstressed, high-pitched, almost annoying. It is not a laugh , think, laugh and thought that even more, yet more shrill, crying because you have no more strength. And you feel guilty, you feel so fucking guilty, why should you cry, you cry until you splash your eyes bulging, why would you show a damn bit of compassion and instead all you know to do is sit on the grass laughing and talking to himself like a moron.
"A year ago today," you say suddenly, recovering from hysterical laughter and fake so acute that we even have pinched the vocal cords. You do not know how to go forward, you do not know what to say; today is one year from when? Since you're dead sounds too rude; since you left me sounds pathetic and victim; since I stopped living , yes, if you are looking for a way to make him feel guilty, then it is the right phrase; since you're gone can go well: it is neutral, not accusing anyone, should not take offense.
Return to Parliament also in that speech that you wanted to tackle more than ten months, but you've never had the balls to start. Tell him that you miss, you say that's not his fault, tell him you love him, and when you're going to get to the point, you stop. Not your fault, it is he who has stopped you: you ask how are the others, and let you lose the argument and began an account of what happened this year.
David? David is the neurotic asshole that has always been and always will be. It was not insensitive, not that. He understood that you were missing, he realized he was a shot for you irreparable harm. He understood, yes, but it did not make it to an understanding person. A month has given you a month to recover: You understand this? Of course you shouted insults against all possible, when you refused to replace it with some stranger. Was not spared in insults, arrived even threatened to cite in court, if I left it all before the expiry of the contract, due to sky, the contract has expired eight months ago. He literally put his hands in his hair, when he realized how sick were you doing, how you made a crap without him. You have finished the tour, and then you loose. I hope if they are enjoying to the last, his money of shit, "muttered looking back at your ex-employer.
Gustav and Georg? Do not you hear them more often, and it is enough to make you get in the groove guilt. They tried to help, I have always been close, but you've thanked them and told them that you could not do anything. Since that day, just keep all three together in the same room was unbearable: he was missing, and the emptiness he felt more than in any other situation. There were no more Tokio Hotel and there were no more dreams and hopes of four boys, there was no more laughter, jokes and teasing. There were only three persons in one room, one of which refused even to speak and to be approached. Them, they have realized that yes: you have left all over the world time to recover, and they told you that when ever I needed it, you always could count on them. Do you see them again, once a week, but the circumstances are not the best, start a conversation on his grave, while one of the flowers is based, is not exactly what you need to return to renew the relationship you had before.
Andreas? Did not let go even for a second. At first, if I had the strength, you'd driven from your house to kick your ass: no one ever went, spent weeks without coming home, sometimes you find him in bed when you woke up together, and threw it down badly, the other side. He smiled, and said that you had done it only because I kept turning over in his sleep, crying. Even now, from time to time, you wake up in the middle of the night and leave the house, cross the road and go to him and he always welcomes you with open arms, even when you do not deserve. He is always there, but it is not him that you need. And know this, but try to take his place: If we consciously or not, this is not clear. He does not care if you only if you're really depressed or whims: Do not think twice to give you a couple of slaps when you say shit, and now you have even lost count of how many times the red outline of his hand you will be printed cheeks, and when, every damn time, remained staring open-mouthed, his hand on the cheek to cover the redness, I replied that he, in his place, would do the same. And you make you cry and you dive into his arms, although that is not the hug you need. Andreas is the only person on earth that you are doing something really useful, and you, however, continue to give concern about the worry, all the remaining days sitting near the stone, snow, rain, hail, or whatever.
Dad? Can not you see more do not know how. He does not care about you, as you do not care anything about him, he has come to see you a couple of times after that day, and in none of these occasions proved to be a good father. The first time you saw it, was at his funeral was there, sitting in one of the first bench, head down and fully dressed, but you could not tell if he really was sorry, not that that day you are able to understand much, in general. In confusion of those memories, you think you've seen talking with Mom, but do not know what those are. It also came from you, you said something, then you shook hands and hugged you: cold, uncaring. That's all I remember the embrace. The second time was when you had to spend the New Year with him and his girlfriend was not at all a party exemplary, indeed, ended in chaos. He knew how you were, indeed, probably did not know, because to him, you and your brother never cared too much. We gave the ball to the foot, when you refused to come down for dinner, gave you the child, when he saw you cry, and has even tried to give you a slap in the face when you tell them to get their dicks. You yelled at him, you called him of all the colors at the end, I have sent a fuck, you went out, slamming the door and you shot through Hanover, you are looking for a taxi back home. Since that day, he no longer dared to turn up.
Mom and Gordon? They do not make anymore. Mother is hopeless; Gordon does is spend his time to console her. Have you been a disappointment, a huge disappointment, were you the only child they have, and instead make them happy, even if you act like you existed anymore. Mom has tried in every way to get back, and even now is struggling to love you and believe that sooner or later back to normal. He is worried to death, you've almost made you a nervous breakdown, when did you stop talking, and when did you stop eating, then, did not know how to make out. He tried to calm down, but the sight of yet another flat left without even being touched by your cheeks and almost blue because of all the slaps you that Andreas had trimmed, no longer has cancer. It was ironically funny that evening was to see you, he would put two good laugh. You, curled up in bed, my cheeks purple rivulets of tears streaming down your face, Andreas, you yelled back, yelling that he did not want to hear more take out the argument, and the mother, who, with the plate still in hand, had dropped to the ground and had to forcibly remove Andreas, dragging him down the stairs and thrown out of home, all while yelling at breakneck speed that no longer had to put to touch you. The next day, you found yourself on the couch of a psychoanalyst skin of Magdeburg. Even now we go once a week, but it's just a waste of money, you understand it yourself at home you must be cheerful, happy and peaceful. The part of the chant, but not enough: the smiles are increasingly stretched, his eyes growing glassy, and the excuses to go out every day at the usual time less and less credible.
You? You're not as neither good nor evil. You have arrived to a state of apathy so advanced that you suck alone; you look in the mirror and wish you only break your face: you've tried the first few times, but the third and fourth bandaged hand mirror changed in about a week, the sink has become off-limits. You know you should stop complaining, because if he could give you even more blows than you do not already have data Andreas, you know you should try to go forward, because if he could you say that you're an idiot, and started to fight. But you also know that you can not do with it for a reason, because if he could at this time you were with him in a hotel room and you'd be so busy with his kisses do not even hear the voice Saki stressed that tells you that you will be late to the next interview, you know your world has completely stopped, because if he could be with you backstage at some local ran a hand through his hair, blown on the neck and tell you that I will never leave. And instead, he left you, and how if you left.
And, come to that point, return the argument that we had to stop first, and say you're sorry. Do you mind, I'm sorry, and I'm sorry, you can think of thousands of words to say to him, all meaningless. Ask him if he remembers their promise, and you say you're sorry, the memories that you had to go away together, that if one of you was gone, the other would follow him without flinching, and yet you're sorry; to apologize because you could not follow him, because you had a fucking afraid to kick the bucket, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ; you sorry for not having the courage to die, and I regret even more because you did not even have the courage to live and you're a fucking asshole that does not even have the balls to drop everything and go by the one person who means to you everything.
you afraid that he is no longer there, you fear that you went away now not solve anything, because you are no longer together, you wonder why you stopped believing in God if you had continued, Perhaps now you would have the certainty that he is really up there somewhere, that you are watching and waiting for you, however, does not even have that belief, and you're still there, nailed to the ground staring at the plaque and think that there ' is nothing for you that it's over, you're talking to himself like an idiot and that nobody, nobody you are listening while you continue to repeat Tom, I love you , sobbing tears and great if you thought that it finished back down on that fuckin abundant stone slab that separates you.
Stay there, sitting on the grass, infringing jeans that mush that is not snow, and that your mother will be hell to hair, when they put in the washing machine, you stay there, sitting on the grass, leaning with back to the stone, however, the devil does the hair come to you. It is bare, bare: there is a name written on it. There is his name written on it. Bordered by a boundary of brass, over which there is a picture that does not makes it justice at all: he was not so, that's not her smile, there is nowhere near. Further down, just above the edge of the frame, in the right corner, there are two dates: continue to haunt us, undaunted. That's your life, and that of your death. Numbers are just numbers, I tell you thousands and thousands of times in the head but they are a tangible, unequivocal. They are there, in stone, and continue to be to slap in the face that takes you back to reality, making you constantly aware that there is no going back. But you'd like, all right: you would like to get on his knees, picking up a box of colors, as you did children, and pull a Rigacci above on that date. The cancellation, line upon line, as you did when you did not like how I drew the face of the mother, and all would be resolved. That date would never have existed, and now I'll still have all the time in the world before. Would you have time to laugh, to play, to go around clubs and the small hours, to argue and then make peace. But it does not work like that, you know.
mumbled something, the items covered by the collar of the vest that hold up to the cheeks, and you wonder even when the words will come out with a spontaneity and a carefree childhood elementary school: you do not tremble as the throat, when you're there, and do not know whether to be relieved or if dovertene despair. Speaks for itself, speak for hours, as you always have the arm moves, calm, and the hand touches up and down the contours of the stone, and automatic in the same way it was done on his arm if he had been there with you: you do not realize the fingertips and knuckles almost white with purple because of the wind. Go on, undaunted, talking and talking, smiling at some memory, and even respond to the questions that you alone, if necessary, laughing, when you make some silly joke, and your own laughter echoes in my ears as if you were someone else: is unstressed, high-pitched, almost annoying. It is not a laugh , think, laugh and thought that even more, yet more shrill, crying because you have no more strength. And you feel guilty, you feel so fucking guilty, why should you cry, you cry until you splash your eyes bulging, why would you show a damn bit of compassion and instead all you know to do is sit on the grass laughing and talking to himself like a moron.
"A year ago today," you say suddenly, recovering from hysterical laughter and fake so acute that we even have pinched the vocal cords. You do not know how to go forward, you do not know what to say; today is one year from when? Since you're dead sounds too rude; since you left me sounds pathetic and victim; since I stopped living , yes, if you are looking for a way to make him feel guilty, then it is the right phrase; since you're gone can go well: it is neutral, not accusing anyone, should not take offense.
Return to Parliament also in that speech that you wanted to tackle more than ten months, but you've never had the balls to start. Tell him that you miss, you say that's not his fault, tell him you love him, and when you're going to get to the point, you stop. Not your fault, it is he who has stopped you: you ask how are the others, and let you lose the argument and began an account of what happened this year.
David? David is the neurotic asshole that has always been and always will be. It was not insensitive, not that. He understood that you were missing, he realized he was a shot for you irreparable harm. He understood, yes, but it did not make it to an understanding person. A month has given you a month to recover: You understand this? Of course you shouted insults against all possible, when you refused to replace it with some stranger. Was not spared in insults, arrived even threatened to cite in court, if I left it all before the expiry of the contract, due to sky, the contract has expired eight months ago. He literally put his hands in his hair, when he realized how sick were you doing, how you made a crap without him. You have finished the tour, and then you loose. I hope if they are enjoying to the last, his money of shit, "muttered looking back at your ex-employer.
Gustav and Georg? Do not you hear them more often, and it is enough to make you get in the groove guilt. They tried to help, I have always been close, but you've thanked them and told them that you could not do anything. Since that day, just keep all three together in the same room was unbearable: he was missing, and the emptiness he felt more than in any other situation. There were no more Tokio Hotel and there were no more dreams and hopes of four boys, there was no more laughter, jokes and teasing. There were only three persons in one room, one of which refused even to speak and to be approached. Them, they have realized that yes: you have left all over the world time to recover, and they told you that when ever I needed it, you always could count on them. Do you see them again, once a week, but the circumstances are not the best, start a conversation on his grave, while one of the flowers is based, is not exactly what you need to return to renew the relationship you had before.
Andreas? Did not let go even for a second. At first, if I had the strength, you'd driven from your house to kick your ass: no one ever went, spent weeks without coming home, sometimes you find him in bed when you woke up together, and threw it down badly, the other side. He smiled, and said that you had done it only because I kept turning over in his sleep, crying. Even now, from time to time, you wake up in the middle of the night and leave the house, cross the road and go to him and he always welcomes you with open arms, even when you do not deserve. He is always there, but it is not him that you need. And know this, but try to take his place: If we consciously or not, this is not clear. He does not care if you only if you're really depressed or whims: Do not think twice to give you a couple of slaps when you say shit, and now you have even lost count of how many times the red outline of his hand you will be printed cheeks, and when, every damn time, remained staring open-mouthed, his hand on the cheek to cover the redness, I replied that he, in his place, would do the same. And you make you cry and you dive into his arms, although that is not the hug you need. Andreas is the only person on earth that you are doing something really useful, and you, however, continue to give concern about the worry, all the remaining days sitting near the stone, snow, rain, hail, or whatever.
Dad? Can not you see more do not know how. He does not care about you, as you do not care anything about him, he has come to see you a couple of times after that day, and in none of these occasions proved to be a good father. The first time you saw it, was at his funeral was there, sitting in one of the first bench, head down and fully dressed, but you could not tell if he really was sorry, not that that day you are able to understand much, in general. In confusion of those memories, you think you've seen talking with Mom, but do not know what those are. It also came from you, you said something, then you shook hands and hugged you: cold, uncaring. That's all I remember the embrace. The second time was when you had to spend the New Year with him and his girlfriend was not at all a party exemplary, indeed, ended in chaos. He knew how you were, indeed, probably did not know, because to him, you and your brother never cared too much. We gave the ball to the foot, when you refused to come down for dinner, gave you the child, when he saw you cry, and has even tried to give you a slap in the face when you tell them to get their dicks. You yelled at him, you called him of all the colors at the end, I have sent a fuck, you went out, slamming the door and you shot through Hanover, you are looking for a taxi back home. Since that day, he no longer dared to turn up.
Mom and Gordon? They do not make anymore. Mother is hopeless; Gordon does is spend his time to console her. Have you been a disappointment, a huge disappointment, were you the only child they have, and instead make them happy, even if you act like you existed anymore. Mom has tried in every way to get back, and even now is struggling to love you and believe that sooner or later back to normal. He is worried to death, you've almost made you a nervous breakdown, when did you stop talking, and when did you stop eating, then, did not know how to make out. He tried to calm down, but the sight of yet another flat left without even being touched by your cheeks and almost blue because of all the slaps you that Andreas had trimmed, no longer has cancer. It was ironically funny that evening was to see you, he would put two good laugh. You, curled up in bed, my cheeks purple rivulets of tears streaming down your face, Andreas, you yelled back, yelling that he did not want to hear more take out the argument, and the mother, who, with the plate still in hand, had dropped to the ground and had to forcibly remove Andreas, dragging him down the stairs and thrown out of home, all while yelling at breakneck speed that no longer had to put to touch you. The next day, you found yourself on the couch of a psychoanalyst skin of Magdeburg. Even now we go once a week, but it's just a waste of money, you understand it yourself at home you must be cheerful, happy and peaceful. The part of the chant, but not enough: the smiles are increasingly stretched, his eyes growing glassy, and the excuses to go out every day at the usual time less and less credible.
You? You're not as neither good nor evil. You have arrived to a state of apathy so advanced that you suck alone; you look in the mirror and wish you only break your face: you've tried the first few times, but the third and fourth bandaged hand mirror changed in about a week, the sink has become off-limits. You know you should stop complaining, because if he could give you even more blows than you do not already have data Andreas, you know you should try to go forward, because if he could you say that you're an idiot, and started to fight. But you also know that you can not do with it for a reason, because if he could at this time you were with him in a hotel room and you'd be so busy with his kisses do not even hear the voice Saki stressed that tells you that you will be late to the next interview, you know your world has completely stopped, because if he could be with you backstage at some local ran a hand through his hair, blown on the neck and tell you that I will never leave. And instead, he left you, and how if you left.
And, come to that point, return the argument that we had to stop first, and say you're sorry. Do you mind, I'm sorry, and I'm sorry, you can think of thousands of words to say to him, all meaningless. Ask him if he remembers their promise, and you say you're sorry, the memories that you had to go away together, that if one of you was gone, the other would follow him without flinching, and yet you're sorry; to apologize because you could not follow him, because you had a fucking afraid to kick the bucket, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ; you sorry for not having the courage to die, and I regret even more because you did not even have the courage to live and you're a fucking asshole that does not even have the balls to drop everything and go by the one person who means to you everything.
you afraid that he is no longer there, you fear that you went away now not solve anything, because you are no longer together, you wonder why you stopped believing in God if you had continued, Perhaps now you would have the certainty that he is really up there somewhere, that you are watching and waiting for you, however, does not even have that belief, and you're still there, nailed to the ground staring at the plaque and think that there ' is nothing for you that it's over, you're talking to himself like an idiot and that nobody, nobody you are listening while you continue to repeat Tom, I love you , sobbing tears and great if you thought that it finished back down on that fuckin abundant stone slab that separates you.
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