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It's all dark.

Then again, that's just how things are now.

I'm lying on my back, alone, wondering where the time went. Or how to get it back.

I haven't slept right in weeks.

The melancholic crooning of an alt rock singer drifts languidly from the speakers across the room and fills my head.

Why do I have to be so painfully cliché? Depressing rock music and self loathing: the perfect cocktail of first world despair.

Eyes closed or open, I'm not sure. Right now it's the same either way.

I grab hold of the pillow beside me and clutch the long, soft shape to my chest.

This isn't how it was meant to be. This isn't how life was meant to go.

I feel numb. I feel empty, like a ship without it's crew. Fuck. I still can't avoid cliché. Am I really this fucking uninspired?

Then again, we're just the products of the things we consume. Can we ever really escape the barriers of normalcy and safeness that surround us and create something truly unique? Does it even matter?

More importantly, will I ever stop asking myself these pointless fucking questions? At least that one I know the answer to.

I used to be so happy. Now if I make it through a day without bleeding it's been a good one. It's like I'm some angsty teen with a fetish for scene bands and self harm. I don't like either, but here I am. Fucking pathetic.

Still, I ache all over as if the pain were new. It's not, but that doesn't stop it from enveloping me. This damn music isn't helping. God, it's just making things worse.

What does it matter anyway?

I'm not worth the time I'm taking.

I try to calm myself by taking a deep breath. I can still smell his scent on the pillow. I can still smell him.

A violent cocktail of mixed emotion wells up inside of me. I can't stop it, I can feel it beating at the walls of my being like a zealous witness. I don't want to hear it or give in to the rhetoric, but I'm overpowered. I let out a short, brutal scream, and tear into the pillow with my claws.

The stuffing bursts out, covers the bed and gets into my fur. Soon enough I'm crying.

Of course it's now that my phone starts ringing.

I stop moving, take in a deep breath and breathe out slowly. His scent is all over now. I push myself up into a sitting position and grab the phone from the floor where its illuminated screen is bathing the whole room in an eerie glow. I answer without even looking at the name.

"Hello?" My voice fights against downtempo guitars in the once-again pitch dark room. I'm wishing, hoping, it will be him, but knowing that it won't be.

"Ethan." His calm voice says, melting me - body and mind - once for each syllable. It really is him. I take another slow, deep breath.

"Yes?" I ask when he doesn't continue. I'm hopeful but terrified. My tail swings rhythmically behind me like, keeping me in a kind of mental and physical balance. For the moment, at least.

"I, uh," he sounds unsure, his voice isn't entirely stable. Maybe he's reconsidered, maybe he's- "I left some of my things around your place. I don't know if it's too soon, but it's been a couple weeks and I was wondering if I could come over, maybe tomorrow, and pick them up."

I can still smell his scent.

My muzzle stays open, poised to respond, but no words come out.

"Ethan?"

My throat feels dry. My head is spinning. My claws are out. My body is still, tail unmoving.

"Ethan?"

What the fuck was I expecting?

Seriously, what the fuck was I expecting?

Idiot.

"That would be no problem, Ross." I say, voice entirely emotionless.

"Okay," he says, and then he hesitates before adding: "I hope you're doing all right."

"Yeah," I say. "Just fine."

I hang up.

He was all sunbeams.

Back then, I was in heaven. His lips on mine, my tongue locked with his.

Eyes closed or open, it wouldn't matter. I was in bathed in his light.

I hadn't slept much that week, but I wasn't about to complain: I hadn't slept alone either.

He had just come in from work, I had made a meal for us, but we were perfectly okay to let it go cold for the moment. I was between jobs at the time, yet still we were carefree.

All I needed was the sight of his face and I would remember that some things in life are worth all that turmoil and loneliness that's thrown at us. Some things in life make all the terror, disasters and accidents make sense.

For me, that thing was his smile.

It broke apart any welling darkness inside me and replaced it with the light and warmth of sunbeams. Even at the very worst of times he could turn a storm into a rainbow.

He pulled me into an embrace, his strong arms wrapped around me, and after tasting my tongue he quickly kissed the top of my head. I nuzzled into my lion's neck fur, letting out a contented hum and wagging my bushy tail. He grabbed it playfully and grinned.

"Careful how you move that tail foxy, you might give no-good lions like me some bad ideas."

We ate quickly, and without much talking, both of us evidently anxious to move things to the bedroom. Once finished he complimented the food, it wasn't anything special but I thanked him anyway. He was always so polite, so caring.

As I collected our plates up his paw quickly found its way to my rump. I flinched, then hid a smile. He growled low, stood tall above me, telling me to put the plates down.

I did as I was told.

With a playful smack and a hand motion, he signaled me to the bedroom. We were done waiting.

Being with him was the best time of my life.

He was unbuttoning his shirt before we even got there. Soon enough it was on the floor and his arms were wrapped around me from behind, his deft fingers working at my own shirt buttons.

Not much longer and we were both bare, wearing only our fur. Mine russet, his golden, a gloriously regal combination. He had me on my back on the bed in a matter of seconds. Soon after he was wetting his already-hard cock with lube, then working some more under my tail. I couldn't help but give him a gasp of pleasure. He always loved to hear me like that.

I remember staring at him, taking in every curve and contour of his body, every one of the near-infinite shades of gold that inimitably summed him up. That gorgeous smile, those miles deep eyes, the sunbeams that his very presence bathed me in. It was all so perfect.

We had been together for over three years, but every day - fuck it -every moment with him felt like a first date. That giddy excitement, that untameable desire. For us it never faded. At least, it hadn't by then.

We barely bothered with foreplay that day, we were far too giddy and excited, as though we were still first-timers. I didn't mind, all I wanted was him. He was all I needed. Back then it was so simple, so perfect.

Two guys in love. That's all we were and all we needed to be. The awesome and absolute simplicity of it consumed me. As if that was how things could work. As if that's what life could boil down to. As if you could be yourself and enjoy it.

Yet, that's exactly how it was for us. No fears, no resignations, no isolation, no hatred, no sadness. It was our own personal heaven.

Looking back, it should have been obvious it could never have lasted. Nothing in life can be so ideal for so long.

Nothing in life could be quite so perfect as the feeling of him pushing himself inside of me, his paws holding my legs up as he stared into my eyes with an expression amalgamating passion, lust and love.

Nothing in life could be quite so good as his rhythmic thrusts, or his soft growl, which sent shivers coursing through my body like electricity through water. The precise and beautiful opposite to a toaster in a bathtub; instead of a suicide, a revitalization.

Sadness, fear, anxiety. They were all useless words around him. I was moaning, he was grunting. We were both beyond earth - fuck it - beyond reality. In those moments we were approaching some kind of idyllic, unknowable bliss. Undoubtedly, undeniably I felt complete with him inside of me. Together we were something more than lovers.

He was pumping into me like our lives depended on it, and at the time I think they did.

I wasn't quiet. The neighbors must have hated us, but neither of us gave a damn. We were all that mattered, all that could matter.

He took control as we fucked, his paw lightly caressing my member as it twitched helplessly, driving me crazy. I was his, absolutely and completely.

I could tell he was close when his face contorted into that look of utter concentration. His thrusting sped up, he let out a low and primal growl from the back of his throat, I gripped the bed tight to make sure his thrusts wouldn't shift me.

I said the kind of typically unromantic thing guys say while they're getting fucked, which always sounds good at the time but not so much in retrospect. "Fill me, honey, I need your seed," or something like that.

The sex was typical for us, as was the day, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing exceptional. Apart from him, that is. Nothing else needed to be. For those fleeting years we were together the world ceased to be an endless chain of empty objectives and empty goals. With him all we needed was each other.

Everything else worked itself out.

As he came his whole body shuddered, shooting spurt after spurt inside of me. I closed my eyes and basked in the moment. His paw closed around my cock and he worked it slowly as he leaned down and locked his muzzle with mine.

It was another average day, and I was in heaven.

Back then I thought it would last forever.

Back then I had it all.

*

I was waiting for a knock on the door.

Back then I'd lost it all: love, happiness, maybe even my mind.

The previous day I had caught his scent and tore open a pillow. That's all it took, his scent, and I was out of control.

Today he was coming over; I had no idea what I was going to do.

He was going to knock on the door, come inside the house and spread his scent around as if he were living here again. I wished he were, but there was no chance of that happening.

For once I was unsure whether he would be able to pierce the thick fog of my conscious with his sunbeams. Perhaps, finally, I was out of his reach. Maybe I had gathered enough clouds in my storm to be opaque and impassable, even to him.

I was so nervous. My heart was beating fast. I was hovering in the entrance hallway, pacing back and forth. I was a wreck.

I wanted to see him so much, but more than that I wanted to hold him and to kiss him. I wanted something out of reach. It was destroying me.

Then the knock came.

For a moment I didn't move. I forgot where I was, what I was doing, or why. It was only after the second knock that I walked over to the door and, with a deep breath, opened it.

He was smiling a crooked kind of smile. His emotive eyes were wide and glistening in the bright light of day. His ears were down and his tail swished slow and steady. Even in that state of nervous tension he was gorgeous. I loved him every bit as much as I ever had. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to have him on top of me, pumping into me.

"Hey," he said simply, skilfully managing to avoid eye contact.

"Hi," I said.

His golden fur glowed in the sunlight and a strong whiff of his scent reached my nose. It was all I could do not to lose myself in it.

He rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head to the side, staring at nothing in particular.

"Well, this is awkward," he said with a dry laugh, which he expertly turned into a cough as he realized I wasn't joining in. The silence lingered on a moment too long and he sighed, examined his shoes, then looked into my eyes and spoke. "Ethan..."

I wanted so bad for everything to be okay. I wanted him to take me in his arms, squeeze me against his domineering form and kiss me. I wanted him to tell me everything was going to go back to normal.

Before he could gather his thoughts and continue I said: "come on in."

I opened the door wider and stepped back. As he slid past me I took a mental snapshot and basked in his scent and the close proximity of his presence. Without him I was in pain. When I was with him it was perfection. Right then it was confusing.

He was there with me, but he wasn't really _with _me.

There was a silence as we stood there, both examining each other inch by inch, lost in our own wordless contemplation. So much left unsaid, so much left undone.

I wanted to tell him exactly how much I loved him, but apart from it being impossible to put accurately into words, I knew it wouldn't help. I could bring up the break up, talk it through. I could compliment him, flirt, or show my pain. None of it would have helped. I wished it would, but with him there in front of me, I was convinced it was impossible.

"I can tell you're hurting." He said hesitantly, seemingly unsure of the motive behind his words. It wasn't exactly going to make me feel any better. I didn't answer directly, I let his words dissipate into the quiet of my home before I spoke.

"You're here to collect some things, so lead the way." I didn't realize quite how cold my tone was until the sound of my own voice reached my ears.

It surprised me, how distant I could pretend to be, when in reality all I wanted was the warmth of his body against mine.

He wordlessly led us through to the living room, complete with shelves of CDs, films, and books as well a TV and a long couch, which couldn't help but emanate memories of the two us wrapped in each other's arms. My mind wandered and I could picture us there, sharing a blanket, talking about whatever was on our minds, or reading, or listening to music, or watching a movie, or... it didn't matter. All that mattered was that we were together.

He walked over to one of the shelves and removed the backpack he was wearing. He unzipped it and started taking his things from the shelves and placing them in unceremoniously. I had to take slow, measured breaths and remind myself that it would_ all be over soon_ to avoid tears. Averting my gaze felt like the best way to stop myself saying anything stupid, I was such a mess. I stared out the room's bay window and examined the still street and the parked cars, mindlessly cataloging data points like colors and design features to pass the time.

Only his voice pulled my eyes back to him.

"Ethan."

My throat was dryer than a desert. I began and stopped unsuccessfully before managing a word.

"Ross?"

He was holding a CD in his paw, slightly obscured by his position. He was staring at it. He turned to look at me again and lifted the CD into full view.

"Is it okay if I keep this?"

I scrunched my eyes closed and bit back a sob, I turned away from Ross and took a half step towards the room's exit. Oh God. Immediately I began working the image out of my mind. Fuck, not just the image, but the album itself. Every song. Every moment we shared together listening to it. Every kiss. Every fuck. We had loved it so much. I worked away at every memory of it, committing each one to a kind of mental prison. Erasing the joy, preventing the pain. It had never happened, it didn't mean anything to me, it was just another CD. That was all. Just an object, devoid of meaning.

"Sure, keep it." I said. My voice was empty.

There was an unmoving silence. Apart from the soft whoosh of cars a block away and the rush of blood inside of my ears, I couldn't hear a thing.

Eventually he put the CD into his bag and zipped it up. He stood up, walked over to me and put a paw on my shoulder. I could hear him approaching, but still his touch provoked a flinch.

I'm not sure, but I think I was crying.

"There are a couple other things I want to collect. They'd be in your room I think." He said. His voice was soft, calm.

That calmness lit a fire in me. How dare he act as though none of this meant a thing to him? I know it did, I was fucking there for it. It felt like his calmness was an affront to everything we ever were. As if we were nothing. As if we didn't matter.

I couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't take it. My paws were balled into fists, my ears flat against my head, my tail stone still. I wanted to explode. I didn't even turn my head when I spoke; I stared at a blank patch of cream colored wall instead. I didn't want to look at him, not anymore.

"You know where the fucking room is, so go ahead and get your fucking things and get out of my fucking life!"

I wasn't really speaking. It was more of a shout, actually.

Silence followed. Then Ross walked past me into what was once our bedroom. It was still half covered in pillow stuffing. He would see it. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to, but I had no choice in the matter.

I was definitely crying by that point.

I remember sitting down right there, laying my face in my paws and letting it all out. Sob after sob of uncontrolled, raw emotion.

I had no idea what to do or where to go from there. I had no idea where life would, or even could, lead.

It must have been a few minutes later when he'd gathered everything that mattered to him and walked back to me. I was half hoping he would walk straight past and out of my life for good, but he didn't. He stopped and stood still, looming over me.

"You're not the only one in pain you know." He said. "You're not the only one who's angry. Don't take it out on me."

I spoke before I thought. My mind was a searing, blinding white. I had reverted to a creature of pure instinct. I was hurt, I had to attack.

"Who else should I fucking take it out on?" I asked, he hesitated. "Get out of my fucking home."

Any filter I may have had was gone, any sense of logic thrown out the window.

There I was, reduced to nothing but pure, unchecked Ethan. Out of the cage, out of my mind.

"You think this isn't tearing me apart?" He asked, his voice cracking, tears falling. "You're not the only one in pain."

That was it. That was all I could take. I stood up, walked over to him and stared up at his face. My scrawny form was dwarfed by his, but I didn't feel any fear.

"You. Left. Me." I eject the words with such venom that he shrinks back. "You fucking left me. Then you come to my home and take your fucking things, take our fucking CD, ransack our fucking room and act like you're the one who's suffered from this? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He attempts to regain his composure and relaxes his muscles.

"Ethan, I-"

"Get out."

"Ethan!"

"Get the fuck out of my home and get the fuck out of my life."

"Ethan, please..."

"You really don't get it do you? You were everything I had, everything I needed, everything I wanted. You were my entire life." I stopped for breath, I was panting pretty hard with the intensity of it all. His tail flicked sharply from side to side as he examined my every move. "You left me. If this is hurting you, then I guess you really fucked up."

He stared into my eyes. I stared into his. There was no understanding between us anymore. I couldn't interpret the glimmer in his eyes, the expression on his face, none of it made sense to me. He wasn't a blank book though, more like one that somebody had taken and then scribbled over every page with a permanent marker.

I don't know how long we stood like that: attempting to read languages we couldn't hope to understand off of each other's face. In such a short time we had transitioned from totally in sync to different wavelengths entirely. The worst part was, I had no idea when it had happened.

I was crying.

He let out a resigned sigh, frowned awkwardly, and walked out of my home and my life.

Then I was alone.

The breeze makes my fur dance in happy, rhythmic waves.

I suppose that's how I've been: a puppet to the forces of nature.

There's been a lot of crying, a lot of moping, a lot of brooding, a lot of mistakes and very little action. I went where the breeze took me.

I take in a long breath of clear air and close my eyes. I stand still as stone and breathe out. I hear the soft sound of running water and smell the scent of trees, flowers and a river.

I've had enough of all the turmoil. From today, things change.

A small smile takes root on my features.

It's been a little while since I could manage that and mean it.

A surge of guilt passes over me and washes away with the river as quickly as it had arrived. Enough of that. I've moved on now. I've moved on.

My eyes open to the very same delightful countryside view they closed on. So, the world doesn't break every time I look away. That's good to know.

I came out here to clear my mind, work some things out with myself, and so far it's not gone too badly. Sometimes when I'm stuck in my routine - the same thing day after day, ever self-replacing stresses and objectives and worries - it becomes stifling, I forget that I'm alive.

Forcing myself to confront nature and the simpler, more physical side of life is doing me some good. Not everything is about searing emotions and interpersonal relations. There's a whole world out here.

I examine the way the water moves and indiscriminately rushes past whatever's in its way. It's a weak and obvious piece of symbolism, but there's something to it. I can't help but let the smile take over my face.

All this sex and love and money and sadness and hatred and pain and joy, it's all ephemeral. Even the river here will fade away with time. Even the planet will become incapable of supporting life eventually.

The universe itself may die one day. But for all of that, I'm here, right now. I should make good use of my time.

I can't brood forever. I can't let my heart ache for eternity. Not least of all because I don't have an eternity to ache in. Our lives are so short, we have to strive to make use of them, otherwise we're wasting the most incredible and bizarre opportunity of all time: to live.

I suppose the quiet and tranquil surroundings are making me introspective. I'm no great philosopher, just a fox in a bad place trying to pick up his life and make it sparkle again.

Maybe it's pretentious to think I have any answers. Then again, maybe I don't care.

If I wallow in my ignorance and pain I'll be as I have been these past few weeks, unable to disobey the wind or any other force that propels me. I won't have any control. It's better to make the wrong choice than no choice at all.

I take my mobile out and bring up my contacts list. I scroll through and examine each name, imagine each face and consider what these people mean to me. Each one strengthens my resolve. There is so much more to life than him.

After a few minutes of this scrolling and contemplation, I reach his name. Ross. It stares at me on the screen like a challenge. I click on caller details and my thumb hovers over an option: block this caller.

I don't know if it's the right thing to do. Maybe I'm running from my problems rather than facing them. But if I do nothing I'm just a pawn, a leaf in the wind, fur in a breeze. Somehow it feels right to me, necessary even, to do this. If I really want to move on I don't think I can allow him into my life. There's no way I could avoid those sunbeams he shines on me. He would dig his claws into my subconscious and destroy me all over again. I don't know if this is the right thing to do, but I'd rather make the wrong choice than have no choice at all.

I repeat it to myself out loud, needing to hear the words.

"I'd rather make the wrong choice than have no choice at all."

I press the option and the phone prompts me to confirm my decision. Another challenge. I don't let it beat me, and this time the phone accepts my decision without judgment or comment.

Once it's done I delete the contact from my phone entirely.

Now my eyes are dry, unwavering.

Now I'm smiling even wider than before.

I put my phone away and continue my countryside walk, a whistle building up and escaping my muzzle; it's a distinctive tune from one of my favorite albums.

Back then the album was for more than my appreciation. Back then, as droll and trite as it sounds, it was the soundtrack to my love.

Now? Well, now it's just a great set of songs. As I whistle one energetically, alone in the perfect natural landscape, I realize that's all it ever needed to be.

Back then I had everything.

Now? Well, now I'm doing okay.

It's not perfect, but as much as I would love to fool myself all over again, nothing and nobody ever is.