Peter Petrelli (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spongetastic) wrote2010-02-22 12:12 pm
spongetastic) wrote2010-02-22 12:12 pm
Entry tags:
Stage: Missing piece
I go out at night
Sleep without the lights
And I do all of the things I have to
Keeping you on my mind
But when I think I'll be alright
I am always wrong
All around him people were sharing fond memories. He listened to their stories but didn’t join in. Peter wasn’t in the mood to laugh or smile. It hurt too much inside to do anything. So he separated himself and stared blankly out the window.
He was angry at the sky for being so calm. He was angry with everyone around him for being so happy. Peter wanted to scream, to pound his fists against the wall until they bled. Anything to dull the pain eating away inside him and the sorrow weighing him down.
Peter had training as a hospice nurse so he knew all about the stages of grief, and how one should mourn a loved one in a healthy way. Peter was well aware that his grief was decisively unhealthy, but he didn’t care. He would rather cling onto his anger than let it go and with it, the person he lost.
If he let go… if he accepted, then….
He sat on the roof feeling the light breeze play with strands of his hair. Peter and rooftops didn’t always mix well. He thought back on the first time he stood on a roof. It felt like much longer ago now. A sudden tightness clutched at his chest and Peter shut his eyes against the tears. He refused to cry. Crying was one step closer to accepting.
He wouldn’t let it go. He couldn’t. And yet, he felt it slip out of his fingers and fall impossibly slow to the ground.
At work he poured himself into every emergency. Peter saw another face on every life he tried to save. If that life was saved he breathed a sigh of relief; if it was lost, he would have to take a moment alone in the lockers as he trembled and fought hard for composure. But then the moment passed and Peter was back trying to save the next life.
Night was the worst. Peter had no work to distract him. All he had was the empty silence and his thoughts. He focused on his ceiling, or the noises of the city outside his window. It wasn’t always enough to block out his sadness.
Something was gone from him. Something precious and important. Peter could deny it, could ignore it, could even run from it. But no matter what he did he would feel that missing piece. If he didn’t let it heal it would just go bigger until it sucked him in like a black hole.
He knew that, but he couldn’t let it go.
Sleep without the lights
And I do all of the things I have to
Keeping you on my mind
But when I think I'll be alright
I am always wrong
All around him people were sharing fond memories. He listened to their stories but didn’t join in. Peter wasn’t in the mood to laugh or smile. It hurt too much inside to do anything. So he separated himself and stared blankly out the window.
He was angry at the sky for being so calm. He was angry with everyone around him for being so happy. Peter wanted to scream, to pound his fists against the wall until they bled. Anything to dull the pain eating away inside him and the sorrow weighing him down.
Peter had training as a hospice nurse so he knew all about the stages of grief, and how one should mourn a loved one in a healthy way. Peter was well aware that his grief was decisively unhealthy, but he didn’t care. He would rather cling onto his anger than let it go and with it, the person he lost.
If he let go… if he accepted, then….
He sat on the roof feeling the light breeze play with strands of his hair. Peter and rooftops didn’t always mix well. He thought back on the first time he stood on a roof. It felt like much longer ago now. A sudden tightness clutched at his chest and Peter shut his eyes against the tears. He refused to cry. Crying was one step closer to accepting.
He wouldn’t let it go. He couldn’t. And yet, he felt it slip out of his fingers and fall impossibly slow to the ground.
At work he poured himself into every emergency. Peter saw another face on every life he tried to save. If that life was saved he breathed a sigh of relief; if it was lost, he would have to take a moment alone in the lockers as he trembled and fought hard for composure. But then the moment passed and Peter was back trying to save the next life.
Night was the worst. Peter had no work to distract him. All he had was the empty silence and his thoughts. He focused on his ceiling, or the noises of the city outside his window. It wasn’t always enough to block out his sadness.
Something was gone from him. Something precious and important. Peter could deny it, could ignore it, could even run from it. But no matter what he did he would feel that missing piece. If he didn’t let it heal it would just go bigger until it sucked him in like a black hole.
He knew that, but he couldn’t let it go.