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There is a delicate balance between living in grief and escaping it.
Shadow sees Maria everywhere.
In the reassuring growth of spring flowers, reaching out through the harsh winter’s snow, stretching towards the promise of the summer sun’s warmth. In a cool morning breeze after a hot night, caressing his quills as Maria once caressed his quills as she read him a lengthy story from a brittle tattered book. Together, they curled up in some cold metallic corner of the ARK, huddled close like a secret—sharing warmth. In dreams he hears her voice, lifted in song, a tune and words that tenderly sprang free from her imagination. She haunts his nights, Shadow finds her just out of his reach—unattainable —always lingering on the outskirts of his mind. Hidden by shadows, as Shadow outstretches his hand, she vanishes into tendrils of fog, twirling up, swallowed whole by the night’s clouds. Always just out of reach.
She’s always with him in some way, lingering, an apparition in the confines of his soul. (The thought of her a fragile thing—something he won’t ever forget.)
He carries her with him everyday.
Somedays it’s heavy.
Somedays it’s hope.
Today—beneath the sun, it’s heat seeping deep into his skin, so deep it resonates into the marrow of his bones—it rings of hope. Amy Rose sits at his side in the freshly cut grass, its earthy scent filling his nose. Greenery. Pine. And dirt. She happily recounts a tale of her adventures with Sonic. She lights up, face bright and beaming with joy as she speaks. The words don’t reach his ears. He sees Maria there, in Amy’s broad infectious smile. In her gentleness. In the lifted songlike tone of Amy’s voice. In the tilt of her head as her pink quills fall and cascade over her shoulders, as Maria’s blonde hair once did.
He stares.
And stares.
Absorbing everything about Amy, writing it to memory, like reattaching a lost limb.
Something he needs.
Something he mourns.
Shadow yearns for Amy.
She is the sun. A spring flower blooming. Shadow sees radiance in Amy. All things tender and bright. His heart swells with her smile, beating fast like the rapid flutter of a bird’s wings. He loves her like the moon loves the sun. Two things never fated, yet still the sun shines through the moon’s darkness. And the moon lingers in the morning sky, praying to meet its lover.
Only when he’s at Amy’s side does he feel whole again. (The gaping open hole in his chest that is grief staunches its bleed with the flutter of Amy’s welcoming lashes.)
Despite it, she remains oblivious to his wants. Even if she works her hardest to earn Shadow’s smile. Something she succeeds at, even with minimal effort. She’ll always make Shadow smile, even if his heart threatens to break in two. Regardless of the effort she puts into spreading joy like ivy through Shadow’s ribs, Amy only has eyes for Sonic.
“Shadow?” Amy’s soft voice, a whisper, a caress, cuts through Shadow’s thick thoughts, “Are you listening?”
Her brow lifts in questioning humor.
Her lips quirk.
“Yeah. Sorry,” Shadow chuckles with a huff.
Amy covers his large hand with hers (so small in comparison) as she gives his fingers a hefty squeeze—she’s far stronger than she seems. (Resilient and determined.)The weight of her hand leaves Shadow’s heart hammering hard up his throat, flushing his cheeks a deep red. So hard he fears Amy can hear or feel its rapid beat. Together, their fingers threaded and palms held close, Amy continues her story.
She’s oblivious, regardless her touch like a whisper offers Shadow comforting kindness. It reassures Shadow like a song. Like an embrace. Like spring sunshine.
Shadow smiles in spite of himself.
There is warmth in their shared connection.
Loved ones never truly die, he thinks. Maria is a ghost filling his lungs yet he gasps for air. They live on in memories. In dreams. In the gentle kiss of a summer’s breeze. In the light airy form of the ever changing clouds. Or the fall of spring rain feeding hungry flowers. They live on through promises. Through secrets and whispers. Through hands held and stories told. Through warmth. With new friends and found families.
With love and hope.
They are always with us.
And Shadow knows, because of this, he’ll never be truly alone.
He closes his eyes, lifts his head to feel the kiss of the hot sun as the curl of Amy’s hand against his own. It grounds him.
Maria is always with him.
He believes it.
Amy is always with him too. Even if she never recognizes his love. Blind and clueless. He cherishes her as she holds his aching heart in her tight yet caring—loving—grip. His heart beats against her palm as he carries her like a prayer. She heals him even if it throbs like a knife. She envelopes him like an embrace. Like Maria’s arms used to hold him close and whisper fairy tales that gave Shadow hope for a bright future. (He had so much hope back then. Innocence lost.)
Amy occupies every corner of his skull, she floats through his thoughts like clouds scattered across the blue sky.
Even if she never notices—Shadow aches.
Aches like an open wound.
It’s a wound Shadow hopes to never heal from.
Shadow sits with his love in solid peace.
A silent promise he carries in his heart for her.
Amy is his religion. His creed. His bandage.
And Shadow happily bleeds.