Bingo: Promt, Noise "Never Too Late"
Songfic written for inusongfics
Prompt: Noise
Song: Never Too Late by 3 Days Grace
Pairing: Miroku/Sango
Warnings: Mild cursing
This world will never be,
What I expected.
And if I don’t belong,
Who would have guessed it?
I will not leave alone, everything that I own,
To make you feel like it’s not too late.
It’s never too late.
Miroku awoke from his deep sleep with a start, shooting up into a sitting position and frantically looking around for whatever it was that had dragged him out of his slumber. The room was dark, the only light coming from under the door, a white light dancing across the crack and he was finally able to register the sound that had woken him up.
It was high pitched and almost like a whine carried to him on a backdrop of static and he ran a hand through his short, dark hair in a sign of exhaustion. White noise… The TV was on.
Looking at the rumpled side of the bed next to him, he bit back a groan. She wasn’t here, so that meant she was out there sitting and watching the static trace its way across the screen while the rush of the white noise washed over her. He almost didn’t want to go out there. He had work in the morning. He didn’t need to be staying up until all hours of the day and night, but he knew he would. For her he would do anything.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and allowed his feet to sink down into the thick carpet, wrestling with the need to go to her, to comfort her, and that little voice in the back of his head that told him it wasn’t worth it, that he should just rolled over and disappear into the folds of the comforter to let her deal with her problems on her own this time. That little voice told him he had his own life to worry about and his own problems. He didn’t need to be added hers in on top of his again. That wasn’t the way this was supposed to work, but he never listened to that little voice. As always, his love for her and the way she had used to be was more than enough to have him lurching to his feet, awkward from sleeping in strange positions and blinded by his acute need for at least two more hours of sleep.
The static from the TV grew louder as he silently pushed the door open, the metallic whine buried in the white noise becoming more shrill as he made his way down the long hallway, now awash with the eerie light from the television screen. He could see the back of the sofa in front of him, silhouetted in the glow coming from the corner of the room, the snowy picture flickering in and out as the rush of the static remained a steady presence in the room.
“It hurts.” Her voice was weak and he could barely hear it over the noise from the television, but he had heard it and as he made his way to the sofa, he looked down and saw her curled into a ball on the cushion farthest from him, her rich, brown eyes closed and her usually tanned and healthy face, pale white and pinched tight. “It’s hurts, Miroku.”
“I know it does.” He said reassuringly. She hurt more often than not these days, the disease inside of her eating away at her fine motor control and plucking its damaging melody out along her nerves. “Sango, it’s going to get better, I promise you. You’ve just got to let the medicine take its time to do its job right.”
She snorted derisively and her muscles twitched as another wave of agony washed through her bones. “I think I would know by now if the medicine was going to work. It’s just getting worse and I’m too tired to fight it anymore.”
Miroku rubbed a finger against the bridge of his nose in a calming gesture for himself. This was becoming more and more of a recurring theme lately. She would wake up in the middle of the night and come out here, turning the channel to the snowy screen and losing herself in the static. He never asked why she found such meaningless noise so utterly calming, but she did. Normally she would lay out here for a few hours before the static could lull her back into dreams, but more and more lately she was unable to find that peace.
The pain was becoming too great.
“Sango…”
“Miroku, it’s too late.”
Even if I say,
It'll be alright.
Still I hear you say,
You want to end your life.
Now and again we try,
To just stay alive.
Maybe we'll turn it all around,
'Cause it's not too late,
It's never too late.
He fiddled nervously with the arm of the couch as he sat there thinking to himself. Unfortunately this was nothing new. Last week she had even yelled at her doctor, trying to force him to say what she wanted to hear him say. She just wanted it to be over, and he didn’t blame her for that. He couldn’t know what she was going through physically because he wasn’t in her position, but he did know that nothing was worth giving up, not when the test results showed improvement.
“Marginal improvement.” He jumped as she spoke again, almost as though she had been reading his mind, and perhaps she had. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t said out loud to her at least a million times before. “They don’t know whether it’s the meds or me, but marginal improvement doesn’t mean shit. I’ve been marginally improving for years, but the pain only gets worse.”
“Why can’t you just take them at their word and trust them for once?” Miroku suggested tiredly. “They know what they’re doing more so than we do. Is it really so hard to believe that you could beat this thing?”
Sango shrugged, finally opening her eyes as she sent him a blank stare that was almost worse than her pained expression from before. “I fight and I fight and I fight, and yet I never gain any ground. The tests say I’m getting better, but then they’ll say I’ve gotten worse, much worse. It’s a losing battle. Every step I gain, I get knocked back two.”
“That’s not true. You just got put on this program two months ago!” He didn’t like to raise his voice to her. She couldn’t help the way she felt. She had been dealing with this for most of her life while he had only been there for two years. Maybe that’s why he was still able to hold onto hope while she was getting to the point where she was ready to let it all go. “You’re not a quitter, Sango. I know you feel bad right now, but you’re not a quitter. It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not going to be okay.” She turned her head away from him and stared forlornly at the distorted picture on the television screen. “It’s never going to be okay, and now it’s my fault that you’re caught up in this, too. Just go back to bed… Maybe I’ll even still be here in the morning.”
A chill went up his spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning in the apartment. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was threatening to leave him. That he would wake up in the morning to find her side of the closet empty with her nowhere to be found, but he knew better. Three months was not nearly enough time to forget the red splay of blood across the bathroom tiles. Three years would not have been enough to lose the sound of the knife clinking to the floor as he dropped down to her side.
Three lifetimes would not have been enough to erase the image of the peaceful expression her face as he lifted her lifeless body from out of the tub.
No one will ever see,
This side reflected.
And if there's something wrong,
Who would have guessed it?
And I have left alone, everything that I own,
To make you feel like,
It's not too late.
It's never too late.
“Don’t say that.” Miroku finally managed to pull himself out of his haunting memories, pushing back the incessant trill of the white noise. “Don’t you ever say that when you are still capable of getting to your feet and living your life as though there is nothing wrong.”
“Oh, so because I can put on a happy face in public; that means everything is going to be okay?” Sango snorted in her knees. “Well, forgive me, but I think I’m going to call bullshit on that. Our friends not knowing I’m hurting isn’t something worth living for.”
“They love you.” Miroku tried again, his voice taking on a desperate tinge as she went back to staring into the empty television screen. “They love you and they trust you never to let them down. They would be here for you if they knew, but they don’t know because you won’t tell them. But just because they can’t see you like this, doesn’t mean they would want for you to give up. Loving someone means being there for them through the good and the bad and helping them hold on when it seems like holding on is the last thing they want to do.”
“Hm.” Sango hummed absentmindedly.
“Well, I love you even if they don’t, and I made a promise to you that I was going to be here for you whether you liked it or not.” Miroku added stubbornly when it looked like he wasn’t going to be getting a response from her. Maybe if he kept her talking, kept her thinking, she could pull through it this time. There would be a next time, true, and sooner than he would ever want, but keeping her alive tonight was the only thought in his head.
Keeping her alive tonight meant there would be more time to convince her to live for real, and not just for however many days it took until the pain returned.
“I don’t see why you love me.” She muttered darkly, a chuckle getting caught in the back of her throat as her eyes misted up with unshed tears and she resolutely turned her gaze away from him. “I’m nothing more than a bother to you. All I do is sit here feeling sorry for myself, and I never once thank you for doing all that you do for me.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Miroku insisted. He knew where this was going. She was going to call herself a burden… Just one more argument she could use to convince herself that her life wasn’t worth living anymore, and he didn’t think he could stand to know that he was one of the reasons she was using when she thought of ending it all. He didn’t want to be that to her. He didn’t want to be her reason to die, he wanted to be her reason to live, but convincing her of this was becoming harder and harder as the days wore on and she continued to convince herself that she was deteriorating.
“Hm.”
And silence filled the space between them, only interrupted by the steady drone of the TV.
Even if I say,
It'll be alright.
Still I hear you say,
You want to end your life.
Now and again we try,
To just stay alive.
Maybe we'll turn it all around,
'Cause it's not too late,
It's never too late.
“You don’t believe it’s all going to work out.” It was more a statement than a question and the only reaction he gained from her was a gentle upwards roll of her shoulders. “How many times do you have to hear me say it before you actually believe that everything is going to be alright?”
“You might as well not even bother.” She breathed in deeply and leveled her empty gaze in his direction. “You know I’m never going to believe you. Face it, there is nothing you or anyone else can do to make this better and just believing in a miracle isn’t going to do shit.”
“I don’t want a miracle.” Miroku fiddled with the tips of his fingers in lieu of something more substantial to do. “All I want is for you to enjoy your life while you have it, and if the meds works, and if you get better, then you’ll have something left worth living for. And, if it doesn’t work out, then you’ll leave behind a legacy you can be proud of.”
“So you do think I’m going to die.” She sighed heavily and turned back to the TV. “Can’t say I blame you.”
“I didn’t say that.” Miroku snapped back, his nerves stung tight and nearly to the breaking point. “I don’t want you to die. I want you to live, and I think you can do it, but you just won’t fucking let yourself, now will you? You just can’t seem to get through the shit that’s happening to you at this very moment that you just can’t see what you could have in the future.”
“Would you be able to get through it?” She asked, a tinge of venom in her tone. “Would you be able to lay your head down on the pillow every night knowing that you’re not going to sleep, that the pain is going to seep deep down into your joints until it is a burning, clutching fire that hurts so badly that you just want to scream. If you’re lucky, you feel it coming on early and you manage to make it out here where you can fall down onto this couch and just drift in and out where no one can hear your whimpers of pain. To feel all of this and know that someday, maybe even someday soon, none of this is going to matter. That you can be as strong as you want to be, but you are still going to die in the end.”
“Then what the hell are the rest of us living for then.” Sango’s head jerked to the side and she looked at him in surprise. Well, it was more of a reaction than he’d been able to get earlier. Maybe he had finally said something right. “Everyone dies in the end whether we’re sick or not. So if life is just one big pointless struggle, what the hell do the rest of us have to live for? We might as well all just take the easy way out. If it’s good enough for you, then it’s got to be good enough for me, too, right?”
“That’s….” She stumbled over her words, her pain temporarily overturned by her shock at his words. “That’s not what I meant. I…. I don’t want you to die…. Please, please don’t die.”
“Sango, it’s not too late.” Miroku’s voice had dropped down to almost a whisper and she had to lean in closer to hear him over the static. “We all fight death every day. Every morning we wake up we have fought and beaten the odds. Every breath we take is another defiant step away from giving up. You can’t give up so easily. I won’t let you.”
The world we knew,
Won't come back.
The time we've lost,
Can't get back.
The life we had,
Won't be ours again.
This world will never be,
What I expected.
And if I don't belong…
“It’s never going to be the same.” She murmured softly. “Even if I do by some miracle get better and be able to truly live again, it’s not going to be the same.”
“No, no it’s not.” Miroku reached out and placed a gentle hand on her knee, not trusting her not to pull away were he to embrace her like her wanted to. “It’s going to be hard, too. It’s going to be hard and it’s going to hurt and even when you return to normal, it’s not going to be the way it was two years ago, but it’s not going to be horrible. I’m still going to be here and I’m still going to love you.”
“But you’re not going to trust me.” She stated plainly and he shrugged.
“Would you trust you after some of the things you’ve said, after some of the things you’ve done?” Miroku asked honestly.
She shook her head slowly. “No, no, I wouldn’t. How… How can you ever love me if you can’t even trust me?”
“Sango, I will never stop loving you. It’s going to take time, but I will trust you again. It might take months, it might take a year, and it might even be longer than that, but I will trust you and I will not abandon you. We’ve come this far, what’s the point in jumping ship now?” She sighed heavily and wiggled an inch closer, turning her head so that the vicious flurries on the TV screen framed her face perfectly, the dim light glancing off the tell-tale sparkle of her tears. “I love you. I always have and I always will, I promise.”
“Thank you….”
Even if I say
It'll be alright
Still I hear you say
You want to end your life
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late (It's never too late)
It's not too late
Months had passed and she had begun to smile again. She had begun to laugh again. He thought she had begun to live again.
The nights in which he woke up to find her missing, only to stand silently in the living room as he watched her staring blankly at the static on the TV in the hopes that the white noise would lull her into unconsciousness were fewer and far between. It even seemed like she took less pain medicine and walked a little straighter, with less of a limp.
She was trying and that made all the difference.
But it wasn’t until almost a year later that Miroku made his final discovery. Where he had thought he would be glad to never hear that white noise again, to never be pulled from his slumber by the piercing whine that signaled nothing more than depression and a loss of hope, he didn’t think about it on the other hand.
And as the door to the apartment swung open and the cold trickle of fear slide up his spine once more he realized something that he had never thought about before.
Sometimes it was the silence that was the loudest noise of all.
It’s never too late…
Prompt: Noise
Song: Never Too Late by 3 Days Grace
Pairing: Miroku/Sango
Warnings: Mild cursing
This world will never be,
What I expected.
And if I don’t belong,
Who would have guessed it?
I will not leave alone, everything that I own,
To make you feel like it’s not too late.
It’s never too late.
Miroku awoke from his deep sleep with a start, shooting up into a sitting position and frantically looking around for whatever it was that had dragged him out of his slumber. The room was dark, the only light coming from under the door, a white light dancing across the crack and he was finally able to register the sound that had woken him up.
It was high pitched and almost like a whine carried to him on a backdrop of static and he ran a hand through his short, dark hair in a sign of exhaustion. White noise… The TV was on.
Looking at the rumpled side of the bed next to him, he bit back a groan. She wasn’t here, so that meant she was out there sitting and watching the static trace its way across the screen while the rush of the white noise washed over her. He almost didn’t want to go out there. He had work in the morning. He didn’t need to be staying up until all hours of the day and night, but he knew he would. For her he would do anything.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and allowed his feet to sink down into the thick carpet, wrestling with the need to go to her, to comfort her, and that little voice in the back of his head that told him it wasn’t worth it, that he should just rolled over and disappear into the folds of the comforter to let her deal with her problems on her own this time. That little voice told him he had his own life to worry about and his own problems. He didn’t need to be added hers in on top of his again. That wasn’t the way this was supposed to work, but he never listened to that little voice. As always, his love for her and the way she had used to be was more than enough to have him lurching to his feet, awkward from sleeping in strange positions and blinded by his acute need for at least two more hours of sleep.
The static from the TV grew louder as he silently pushed the door open, the metallic whine buried in the white noise becoming more shrill as he made his way down the long hallway, now awash with the eerie light from the television screen. He could see the back of the sofa in front of him, silhouetted in the glow coming from the corner of the room, the snowy picture flickering in and out as the rush of the static remained a steady presence in the room.
“It hurts.” Her voice was weak and he could barely hear it over the noise from the television, but he had heard it and as he made his way to the sofa, he looked down and saw her curled into a ball on the cushion farthest from him, her rich, brown eyes closed and her usually tanned and healthy face, pale white and pinched tight. “It’s hurts, Miroku.”
“I know it does.” He said reassuringly. She hurt more often than not these days, the disease inside of her eating away at her fine motor control and plucking its damaging melody out along her nerves. “Sango, it’s going to get better, I promise you. You’ve just got to let the medicine take its time to do its job right.”
She snorted derisively and her muscles twitched as another wave of agony washed through her bones. “I think I would know by now if the medicine was going to work. It’s just getting worse and I’m too tired to fight it anymore.”
Miroku rubbed a finger against the bridge of his nose in a calming gesture for himself. This was becoming more and more of a recurring theme lately. She would wake up in the middle of the night and come out here, turning the channel to the snowy screen and losing herself in the static. He never asked why she found such meaningless noise so utterly calming, but she did. Normally she would lay out here for a few hours before the static could lull her back into dreams, but more and more lately she was unable to find that peace.
The pain was becoming too great.
“Sango…”
“Miroku, it’s too late.”
Even if I say,
It'll be alright.
Still I hear you say,
You want to end your life.
Now and again we try,
To just stay alive.
Maybe we'll turn it all around,
'Cause it's not too late,
It's never too late.
He fiddled nervously with the arm of the couch as he sat there thinking to himself. Unfortunately this was nothing new. Last week she had even yelled at her doctor, trying to force him to say what she wanted to hear him say. She just wanted it to be over, and he didn’t blame her for that. He couldn’t know what she was going through physically because he wasn’t in her position, but he did know that nothing was worth giving up, not when the test results showed improvement.
“Marginal improvement.” He jumped as she spoke again, almost as though she had been reading his mind, and perhaps she had. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t said out loud to her at least a million times before. “They don’t know whether it’s the meds or me, but marginal improvement doesn’t mean shit. I’ve been marginally improving for years, but the pain only gets worse.”
“Why can’t you just take them at their word and trust them for once?” Miroku suggested tiredly. “They know what they’re doing more so than we do. Is it really so hard to believe that you could beat this thing?”
Sango shrugged, finally opening her eyes as she sent him a blank stare that was almost worse than her pained expression from before. “I fight and I fight and I fight, and yet I never gain any ground. The tests say I’m getting better, but then they’ll say I’ve gotten worse, much worse. It’s a losing battle. Every step I gain, I get knocked back two.”
“That’s not true. You just got put on this program two months ago!” He didn’t like to raise his voice to her. She couldn’t help the way she felt. She had been dealing with this for most of her life while he had only been there for two years. Maybe that’s why he was still able to hold onto hope while she was getting to the point where she was ready to let it all go. “You’re not a quitter, Sango. I know you feel bad right now, but you’re not a quitter. It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not going to be okay.” She turned her head away from him and stared forlornly at the distorted picture on the television screen. “It’s never going to be okay, and now it’s my fault that you’re caught up in this, too. Just go back to bed… Maybe I’ll even still be here in the morning.”
A chill went up his spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning in the apartment. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was threatening to leave him. That he would wake up in the morning to find her side of the closet empty with her nowhere to be found, but he knew better. Three months was not nearly enough time to forget the red splay of blood across the bathroom tiles. Three years would not have been enough to lose the sound of the knife clinking to the floor as he dropped down to her side.
Three lifetimes would not have been enough to erase the image of the peaceful expression her face as he lifted her lifeless body from out of the tub.
No one will ever see,
This side reflected.
And if there's something wrong,
Who would have guessed it?
And I have left alone, everything that I own,
To make you feel like,
It's not too late.
It's never too late.
“Don’t say that.” Miroku finally managed to pull himself out of his haunting memories, pushing back the incessant trill of the white noise. “Don’t you ever say that when you are still capable of getting to your feet and living your life as though there is nothing wrong.”
“Oh, so because I can put on a happy face in public; that means everything is going to be okay?” Sango snorted in her knees. “Well, forgive me, but I think I’m going to call bullshit on that. Our friends not knowing I’m hurting isn’t something worth living for.”
“They love you.” Miroku tried again, his voice taking on a desperate tinge as she went back to staring into the empty television screen. “They love you and they trust you never to let them down. They would be here for you if they knew, but they don’t know because you won’t tell them. But just because they can’t see you like this, doesn’t mean they would want for you to give up. Loving someone means being there for them through the good and the bad and helping them hold on when it seems like holding on is the last thing they want to do.”
“Hm.” Sango hummed absentmindedly.
“Well, I love you even if they don’t, and I made a promise to you that I was going to be here for you whether you liked it or not.” Miroku added stubbornly when it looked like he wasn’t going to be getting a response from her. Maybe if he kept her talking, kept her thinking, she could pull through it this time. There would be a next time, true, and sooner than he would ever want, but keeping her alive tonight was the only thought in his head.
Keeping her alive tonight meant there would be more time to convince her to live for real, and not just for however many days it took until the pain returned.
“I don’t see why you love me.” She muttered darkly, a chuckle getting caught in the back of her throat as her eyes misted up with unshed tears and she resolutely turned her gaze away from him. “I’m nothing more than a bother to you. All I do is sit here feeling sorry for myself, and I never once thank you for doing all that you do for me.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Miroku insisted. He knew where this was going. She was going to call herself a burden… Just one more argument she could use to convince herself that her life wasn’t worth living anymore, and he didn’t think he could stand to know that he was one of the reasons she was using when she thought of ending it all. He didn’t want to be that to her. He didn’t want to be her reason to die, he wanted to be her reason to live, but convincing her of this was becoming harder and harder as the days wore on and she continued to convince herself that she was deteriorating.
“Hm.”
And silence filled the space between them, only interrupted by the steady drone of the TV.
Even if I say,
It'll be alright.
Still I hear you say,
You want to end your life.
Now and again we try,
To just stay alive.
Maybe we'll turn it all around,
'Cause it's not too late,
It's never too late.
“You don’t believe it’s all going to work out.” It was more a statement than a question and the only reaction he gained from her was a gentle upwards roll of her shoulders. “How many times do you have to hear me say it before you actually believe that everything is going to be alright?”
“You might as well not even bother.” She breathed in deeply and leveled her empty gaze in his direction. “You know I’m never going to believe you. Face it, there is nothing you or anyone else can do to make this better and just believing in a miracle isn’t going to do shit.”
“I don’t want a miracle.” Miroku fiddled with the tips of his fingers in lieu of something more substantial to do. “All I want is for you to enjoy your life while you have it, and if the meds works, and if you get better, then you’ll have something left worth living for. And, if it doesn’t work out, then you’ll leave behind a legacy you can be proud of.”
“So you do think I’m going to die.” She sighed heavily and turned back to the TV. “Can’t say I blame you.”
“I didn’t say that.” Miroku snapped back, his nerves stung tight and nearly to the breaking point. “I don’t want you to die. I want you to live, and I think you can do it, but you just won’t fucking let yourself, now will you? You just can’t seem to get through the shit that’s happening to you at this very moment that you just can’t see what you could have in the future.”
“Would you be able to get through it?” She asked, a tinge of venom in her tone. “Would you be able to lay your head down on the pillow every night knowing that you’re not going to sleep, that the pain is going to seep deep down into your joints until it is a burning, clutching fire that hurts so badly that you just want to scream. If you’re lucky, you feel it coming on early and you manage to make it out here where you can fall down onto this couch and just drift in and out where no one can hear your whimpers of pain. To feel all of this and know that someday, maybe even someday soon, none of this is going to matter. That you can be as strong as you want to be, but you are still going to die in the end.”
“Then what the hell are the rest of us living for then.” Sango’s head jerked to the side and she looked at him in surprise. Well, it was more of a reaction than he’d been able to get earlier. Maybe he had finally said something right. “Everyone dies in the end whether we’re sick or not. So if life is just one big pointless struggle, what the hell do the rest of us have to live for? We might as well all just take the easy way out. If it’s good enough for you, then it’s got to be good enough for me, too, right?”
“That’s….” She stumbled over her words, her pain temporarily overturned by her shock at his words. “That’s not what I meant. I…. I don’t want you to die…. Please, please don’t die.”
“Sango, it’s not too late.” Miroku’s voice had dropped down to almost a whisper and she had to lean in closer to hear him over the static. “We all fight death every day. Every morning we wake up we have fought and beaten the odds. Every breath we take is another defiant step away from giving up. You can’t give up so easily. I won’t let you.”
The world we knew,
Won't come back.
The time we've lost,
Can't get back.
The life we had,
Won't be ours again.
This world will never be,
What I expected.
And if I don't belong…
“It’s never going to be the same.” She murmured softly. “Even if I do by some miracle get better and be able to truly live again, it’s not going to be the same.”
“No, no it’s not.” Miroku reached out and placed a gentle hand on her knee, not trusting her not to pull away were he to embrace her like her wanted to. “It’s going to be hard, too. It’s going to be hard and it’s going to hurt and even when you return to normal, it’s not going to be the way it was two years ago, but it’s not going to be horrible. I’m still going to be here and I’m still going to love you.”
“But you’re not going to trust me.” She stated plainly and he shrugged.
“Would you trust you after some of the things you’ve said, after some of the things you’ve done?” Miroku asked honestly.
She shook her head slowly. “No, no, I wouldn’t. How… How can you ever love me if you can’t even trust me?”
“Sango, I will never stop loving you. It’s going to take time, but I will trust you again. It might take months, it might take a year, and it might even be longer than that, but I will trust you and I will not abandon you. We’ve come this far, what’s the point in jumping ship now?” She sighed heavily and wiggled an inch closer, turning her head so that the vicious flurries on the TV screen framed her face perfectly, the dim light glancing off the tell-tale sparkle of her tears. “I love you. I always have and I always will, I promise.”
“Thank you….”
Even if I say
It'll be alright
Still I hear you say
You want to end your life
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late (It's never too late)
It's not too late
Months had passed and she had begun to smile again. She had begun to laugh again. He thought she had begun to live again.
The nights in which he woke up to find her missing, only to stand silently in the living room as he watched her staring blankly at the static on the TV in the hopes that the white noise would lull her into unconsciousness were fewer and far between. It even seemed like she took less pain medicine and walked a little straighter, with less of a limp.
She was trying and that made all the difference.
But it wasn’t until almost a year later that Miroku made his final discovery. Where he had thought he would be glad to never hear that white noise again, to never be pulled from his slumber by the piercing whine that signaled nothing more than depression and a loss of hope, he didn’t think about it on the other hand.
And as the door to the apartment swung open and the cold trickle of fear slide up his spine once more he realized something that he had never thought about before.
Sometimes it was the silence that was the loudest noise of all.
It’s never too late…