Love is one of the strongest emotions, the power of which has a tendency to break through even the most impossible of situations, overcoming it all.

Love is powerful, and it has an annoying habit of taking over one's life, forcing itself into control.

Love is a gift, but people can't always comprehend that. Too many people take it for granted instead of cherishing it.

Blaine Anderson is not one of those people.

And though his situation isn't exactly impossible, it's extremely difficult.

.

"Carole called earlier," Blaine says, piling silverware on top of the plates already in his arms.

Kurt turns from the sink, his hands momentarily still in the bubbly, soapy water. "Really?" he asks. "And what'd she say?"

Blaine hands him the dirty dishes. "That we should visit soon."

"Hmmm," Kurt muses, stuffing the plates and utensils in the dishwater. "Well, I have the weekend off in . . . three weeks, I think."

"I'll ask my boss for those days off then," Blaine replies, grabbing the remaining food from the small table.

"Are Finn and Rachel going?" Kurt asks, scrubbing one of the baby blue plates forcefully.

"I believe so . . . " Blaine says, his voice lifting up in a questioning tone. He opens the fridge stuffing the food he'd just wrapped up onto the top shelf.

"We'll get to see Shelby," Kurt says, his lips turning up into an excited grin.

"That's right," Blaine agrees.

The two of them go silent, lost in the longing thoughts that they're sure the other is thinking as well.

.

Kurt and Blaine snuggle closely, wrapped haphazardly in the cocoon of mismatched blankets and sheets. Underneath the covers, naked skin touches, radiating heat, sticking together with sweat and sex.

"Blaine?" Kurt ventures softly. He reaches up to grip Blaine's fingers gently, turning on his side to face him, resting his head on Blaine's muscular, hairy chest.

"Mmm?" Blaine inquires.

"I – I've been thinking," Kurt continues, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"About?" Blaine urges, brushing the hair from Kurt's damp forehead.

Kurt turns his head to look up, his eyes meeting Blaine's: the beauty and solitude of the rippling ocean meeting the waving, breezy stalks of a wheat field. "I think it's time we- we have a little Shelby of our own . . . if- if you want," he adds hastily.

Blaine's expression goes through a twister of emotions before it settles on a mixture of excitement and pure love.

"Of- of course!" he finally says. "I – I –" he breaks off, spluttering, issuing a noise between a laugh and a sob. He takes a hold of Kurt's hand with both of his.

"Kurt Hummel-Anderson," he says quietly, tears already falling slowly. "I would love nothing more than to have children with you."

He bends down and kisses the tips of Kurt's fingers, grinning widely.

.

It's a cold, icy February morning, the wind gentle but sharp. Blaine grips Kurt's blue and grey scarf tying it carefully around his neck and smoothing it out.

"Stay warm," he commands, leaning forward to kiss Kurt on the nose.

"I will," Kurt replies, shifting and brushing his lips against Blaine's. "I'll see you after work, sweetheart."

Blaine smiles, pulling back. "And then we'll go to your parents'."

"And then we'll go to my parents'," Kurt repeats. He hugs Blaine tightly and then turns, completely unaware that he'd just lied.

.

The roads are icier than he'd initially anticipated, but he drives as carefully as possible, hands gripping the wheel, fingers taut. It's dark; he's running late and just wants to get home. Streetlights sparkle around, dotting the nights sky alongside the stars. Sleet pounds down on the car, making pinking sounds on the metal roof.

Surprisingly, the highway is actually pretty busy. He weaves cautiously through the traffic, putting on his blinker.

Halfway through his turn, something slams into him from the side. He's thrust forward as the car crumples, and he blacks out.

.

It's only twenty minutes, but Blaine's heart is thumping wildly against the inside of his throat. He paces around near the front door, maneuvering through the packed-up luggage. His hands clasp behind his back and he closes his eyes tightly from time to time, trying desperately not to worry.

The silence is only broken when the shrill sound of their telephone echoes throughout the apartment. He dashes to the kitchen, looking at the caller ID.

It's an emergency number.

Blaine picks up the receiver with trembling fingers, swallowing back bile. He prays with all his might that Kurt is okay as he chokes out, "Hello?"

It isn't enough.

"Is this Blaine Hummel-Anderson?" The voice sounds distant and almost robotic.

"Y-yes," he stutters, holding back the raging waterfall of tears as best he can.

"I'm sorry," the unfamiliar voice says. "Your husband's been in a severe car wreck."

.

Currently, Kurt is comatose, so they don't have a clear view of what the damage is, but it looks anything but minor. He lies in the hospital bed, face bloody, swollen, and bruised. His arm is stuck in a cast, bandages wrapped around his stitched-up head.

Blaine can't move; frozen with shock, anger, and disbelief.

"What- what happened?" Blaine whispers, and a sheriff answers.

"Drunk driver."

Blaine tries to comprehend, tries to take it in, but absorbing anything seems too difficult at this moment. His heart clenches like a fist inside his chest. He can't breathe and his head is swimming. It feels like the world is collapsing around him, but he's glued to the floor, unable to escape the falling debris.

"Come on," the sheriff says. He grips Blaine's shoulder, pulling him from the room. "The nurse needs some time alone with him. And besides, I don't think anyone's alerted the rest of his family yet."

.

"Blaine, where the hell are you guys? What's going on? Are you lost?"

Finn's voice is frantic and too loud for Blaine's sensitive ears. He gives up, letting his arm fall from next to his ear and pressing the speaker button. He allows Finn to rant some more, too tired and upset to interrupt him.

"Blaine?"

"Finn, please stop," he says quietly, voice completely lost of life.

"Blaine?" Finn asks again, and this time he sounds alarmed, finally catching on that there is something seriously wrong. Something that may not be fixable. Something that is horrible, and that Blaine still can't get his head around.

Not just that Kurt and Blaine had taken a wrong turn and are running late.

"Finn . . . Kurt- Kurt," he swallows hard, trying calm the threatening shake of his voice. "Kurt was in a car crash."

The line is silent; Blaine can't even hear Finn's breathing. Blaine holds the phone loosely between his fingers, putting his face in one hand and pushing back body-shaking sobs.

"How bad?" Finn finally asks.

"Bad." It's almost a whisper, and Blaine is amazed Finn could even hear.

"Like?" Finn pushes.

"He's comatose," Blaine replies, his voice finally cracking, signaling the start of a breakdown. He takes two slow, deep breaths, and really, they do nothing. "I don't know when he'll wake up."

"Oh . . ." Finn breathes. "Oh, God." A sound like wind issues from the other line, and then Blaine hears, "Mom! Dad! Come here- now!"

Tears start falling down Blaine's cheeks quickly now, and he hastens to wipe them. He takes one last deep breath before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes as he waits for someone to take the phone.

Finally, it's Carole's voice he hears.

"Blaine, honey?" she asks. "Are you there?"

"Yeah," he croaks.

"And Kurt was in a car accident? Tonight?" she continues, sounding oddly calm for a mother, compared to Blaine who is hardly holding himself together, ready to crumble at any moment.

"A few hours ago," he replies quietly.

"Do you know how it happened?"

He swallows hard again. "It was a drunk driver. He was driving home after work. It was dark- the roads were icy, and- and . . . " He breaks off, a great, shuddering sigh escaping his lips.

"Blaine, sweetheart," Carole continues, "hang tight. We'll be there in a few hours."

He nods, then catches himself and mutters, "'Mkay."

He hangs up the phone and then curls up in the small, waiting room chair, finally allowing himself to sob. The force of each one racks his body harshly, and he only stops once he's fallen asleep.

.

The Hummel-Hudsons arrive at around one in the morning, rushing through the hallways until they find their son's husband uncomfortably asleep in a small, sectioned waiting room.

They aren't allowed to see Kurt, but Finn fights until Burt calms him down. So they settle themselves next to Blaine, quiet, so he can rest.

.

They sit through the next morning.

Blaine paces, holding his hand up constantly by his mouth, eyes following his feet with each step.

Finn curls into a ball, hugging his tall knees to his chest, fitting himself across two chairs.

Burt and Carole hold hands, seated right next to each other. They whisper constantly, being the most controlled of the group.

Kurt doesn't wake.

.

It's four in the morning the next night and Blaine and Finn sit side by side. Blaine is hunched over, elbows on his knees as his leg shakes. Finn leans back, tapping his fingers on the armrest. Burt and Carole are currently asleep, staying in Kurt and Blaine's apartment.

The minutes tick by, the rhythm matching that of whatever's left of Blaine's heart.

At precisely four-thirty-eight, a nurse comes down the hall, her expression hard to read.

"He's awake," she says, and instantly, Blaine and Finn spring from their seats. "But I have to warn you," she continues, a grave expression on her face. She sighs, clasping her hands together. "You may want to sit down a moment."

Blaine and Finn oblige, moving slowly. Blaine's heart leaps to his throat and his head pounds with a concoction of fear, confusion, and tiredness.

The nurse takes a deep breath before continuing. "I'm so sorry," she starts, "But he-he's suffered severe brain damage. He may not talk, he may not look at you, he may not even remember you. He's not going to function normally anymore. He's got the brain set of maybe a six-year-old."

Blaine brushes it off, not fully understanding, not entirely caring. All he wants is to see his husband, to know he's okay, to know he's alive. Finn looks to him for reassurance, but he doesn't know what to do.

"Can I see him?" he asks, turning to the nurse.

"Y-yes," she says, pushing herself up. "Right this way, Mr. Hummel-Anderson."

.

The room is silent, and Blaine is lost for what to say. The lack of sound presses in on his ears, squeezing his eardrums, but he can't make his lips form the words.

The others in the room- the nurses, the doctor, Finn- they stare at Blaine with a sort of aching pity in their eyes. He can feel it burning on his back, but he ignores it. Instead he moves forward, his heart pounding as he nears his husband.

Kurt tries to look at him, but his eyes are unfocused, his expression lost yet troubled.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks in a whisper, and a stinging sensation hits his eyes.

Kurt doesn't answer.

"Kurt, it's me," Blaine urges, gripping his hand gently.

Once again, Kurt does nothing.

Blaine kisses his hand, tears escaping and rolling down his cheeks. "It's me- Blaine. You're husband. Please." His voice cracks, and his breath catches in his throat.

"I love you."

He stays like that for a moment, shutting his eyes tightly. A firm hand rests on his shoulder and then he tears from the room, spluttering sobs.

.

That night, Blaine removes all the alcohol from their apartment. He throws it at the hard, icy ground in the alley next to the building, watch the glass shatter into a million pieces like his now-hardened-over heart. The liquid spews like a fountain, drenching him.

He finishes and collapses to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and crying, the tears freezing on his face.

.

It's been exactly three days, seven hours, and twenty-three minutes since Kurt first woke from his coma, and Blaine sits at his side, rubbing circles gently into his palm. He moans and shouts, unable to form coherent words to communicate. The brain damage prevents him from doing so.

Blaine holds onto him, but stares blankly at the floor, unsure even what to do at this point. His emotions have left him.

He feels empty.

He feels lost.

He feels like half of him is missing.

None of this was supposed to happen. Kurt was supposed to have made it home safely. He was supposed to have walked through the front door, running to hug and kiss Blaine. The two of them were supposed to have picked up their luggage and brought to the car, then drive to Burt and Carole's for a nice family weekend.

They were supposed to return home, sharing their favorite parts of the visit. They were supposed to talk about the possibility of kids. They were supposed to ask Rachel to be their surrogate. They were supposed to be there for the birth of their child. They were supposed to raise their child and help him or her through the struggles of having gay parents.

They were supposed to grow old together, holding hands on the porch and talking about their grandchildren.

None of that was going to happen now.

Blaine would spend his days taking care of Kurt. Blaine would have to find a job he could work at from home, or they would have to move in with Burt and Carole. He and Kurt wouldn't get to kiss anymore. They wouldn't get to hold each other closely. They wouldn't get to have sex. They wouldn't get to say "I love you" to each other. They wouldn't get to raise children.

Everything was lost.

Everything was gone.

Everything was impossible.

A single tear falls from Blaine's eye, and he gives Kurt's hand a gentle squeeze.

The boy turns to him, his eyes trying hard to focus.

"Baine," he mumbles.

.

The nurse turns to Blaine, holding the results of the scan in her hand.

"You know, I don't think the damage is as severe as we had originally thought."

Blaine's heart skips a beat.

.

The nurse isn't lying.

The days grow long, the weeks longer, but Kurt does improve. The first that comes is his movement. Everyone had been so sure that Kurt was ridden for a wheelchair, but after only two weeks, he can lean against the bed just slightly and stand up.

Blaine holds onto his elbow, urging him as he walks from the head of the bed to the foot, focusing as hard as he can.

Kurt makes it, collapsing back onto the end of the bed, gripping Blaine's arms tightly. He breathes hard, and Blaine smiles.

"You did it."

He kisses Kurt's forehead and the boy attempts to grin.

After three weeks, Kurt begins going through speech therapy. His face is the hardest part for him to move. Talking is one of the most difficult things at this point, eating coming in a close second. His lips and tongue just can't move the same intricate ways that they used too and words are exhausting to get out.

Kurt sits slumped in his bed, Blaine by his side next to the therapist. Kurt holds his hands, listening to the therapist intently. His mind is slow, his learning disabled, but she handles everything perfectly, having Kurt work through simple phrases.

It's a Tuesday night when Blaine kisses his cheek, and Kurt forces out slowly, "I . . l-love . . you."

Blaine's heart swells and his jaw drops just the slightest. He grips Kurt's hand, whispering, "I love you too, sweetheart."

The biggest area that Kurt struggles with is comprehension. He's lost his ability to think and rationalize like a normal twenty-nine year old, thrown back to the age of an elementary student, but Blaine hasn't lost faith in him. If he can re-learn everything else, who's to say that he can't get his mental state back?

It's only a month later that Kurt returns home, scheduled for check ups every week now.

By now, Blaine is sure he's come to terms with Kurt's condition, prepared to do all he can to help his husband.

.

It takes months, but Kurt does improve greatly. He still needs to be taken care of, he still can't work, his medical bills still cost them insane amounts of money. While he sleeps, Blaine stays up, working through the night.

But Kurt does improve- he limps around on crutches, he talks as best he can, and slowly, his mental level moves upward, now that of a young teenager.

Originally, the doctors believed Kurt wouldn't have even made the slightest of progress.

So this is all Blaine could've ever wanted.

.

They decide to go into foster care.

They wanted children, yes, but their circumstances may not be the best for a permanent child. So instead, Blaine files papers and awaits a phone call patiently.

Henrie is six years old, small, energetic, and optimistic. Immediately, he takes a liking to Kurt, speaking to him with care and Kurt replies in his strangled language, a lopsided smile on his tired, pale face.

The tiny child is more than the struggling couple could've asked for. He respects and loves them, they- him; just as he was their biological son. He holds Blaine's hand in public, his chubby, little fingers gripping tightly to Blaine's. At night, he tip-toes carefully into his foster parent's bedroom. He complains about nightmares and shimmies under the covers, cuddling next to Kurt. Kurt places a protective arm around him and they fall asleep.

The sun hangs low in the sky, the summer evening humid and warm. Blaine pushes Kurt in his wheelchair- who's too tired to limp around awkwardly. Henrie sits in Kurt's lap, his foster dad rubbing comforting circles into his back.

"Tired, Henrie?" Blaine asks, grinning crookedly.

Henrie nods, muttering, "Mmm-hmm."

Kurt pats his chest and Henrie rests his head there, curling into a ball, his legs hanging over the arm of the chair. A hand rests itself on his shoulder, warm and careful. Kurt looks up at Blaine, and they share a proud, loving look.

.

Blaine is surprised when Henrie makes it a year with them.

He figured the wonderful young boy would be taken away from them sooner, his parents asking for him back, or the his social worker pulling him away for a better, easier place.

He's also surprised by how much Henrie seems to enjoy himself. He knows that no matter what, the matter of Henrie's family would be a touchy subject, but it seems even more odd that the kid isn't bothered by the fact that he has two Dads. Other kids at school would certainly question him- he would grow confused, maybe even disgusted once he realized just how different his situation was. But he doesn't seem fazed in the slightest.

Blaine picks Henrie up from school, sliding expertly into an open spot by the front doors of the building. He opens the passenger's door as Henrie comes running, excited after another day of second grade. He jumps into the car, climbing onto his knees and hugging Blaine around the neck. Blaine grins widely, rubbing the back of Henrie's neck.

As they pull apart, Blaine asks, "How was school, Henrie?"

"Great!" he replies enthusiastically, his small fingers drumming against the handle of the car door. "Me and Kevin played soccer at recess," he informs his father proudly.

Blaine smirks, reminiscing. "You know, Hens, I used to play soccer when I was in high school," he tells Henrie fondly.

The boy's eyes widen. "Really?" he asks eagerly.

Blaine nods, grasping the wheel with both hands.

"That's so cool!" Henrie exclaims, practically bouncing in his seat. "I wanna grow up and be just like you," he continues, grinning and exposing his one missing front tooth.

Blaine turns to look at him, still smiling, his eyes tingling with the slightest burning sensation.

.

Later that night, Blaine talks to Kurt, and they weigh their options thoroughly, taking Kurt's condition into careful consideration.

Eventually, they decide to officially adopt Henrie.

.

Blaine sits at the kitchen table with Henrie, typing away on his laptop while his to-be-son works on his math homework, his face contorted with confusion and concentration.

A few silent minutes, and suddenly a loud thumping noise reaches their ears. Blaine propels upward from his seat, rushing to the origin of the sound and sees Kurt crumpled on the ground.

He's conscious, sitting upright and gripping to the stair railing.

Blaine bends down, grasping Kurt underneath his armpits. He pulls him upward to his feet, asking anxiously, "Are you okay?"

Kurt nods, wincing and putting his hand to his head.

"Did you hit your head?" Blaine asks, resting his palm gently against Kurt's face.

"Yeah," Kurt mumbles. "But- I'm . . fine," he forces out, his usual way of speaking.

Blaine nods, reassuring himself more than anything. He lets Kurt go, his rapid heartbeat beginning to slow.

.

Blaine takes the paperwork from Mrs. Suffield's hands, a wide grin spreading across his rosy lips. His fingers each with excitement, heart swelling.

"You're sure about this?" the young woman asks. "This is a huge thing for Henrie, and I don't want him to be disappointed."

"We're sure," Blaine clarifies.

.

It's a Thursday when Kurt gets his first migraine. He lies helplessly on the couch, moaning while Blaine holds him in his lap, rubbing his fingers around in circles on Kurt's temples. He falls asleep a few hours later, breathing softly, Blaine's fingers wound in his hair.

A week later, another one returns.

The next one happens three days after that. Blaine finds Kurt vomiting into the toilet bowl, gripping tightly the sides, ghostly pale and shaking.

He doesn't waste a moment to take him to the hospital.

.

"Well," the nurse starts. "It looks like that fall has sent his brain damage into reverse. It never fully healed, and it shook things up again."

Blaine's heart nearly stops, dropping to his feet.

"There's nothing we can do but hope it fixes itself like last time.

.

It doesn't.

.

The migraines progress, the nausea persists, and it's like their world falls apart at the seams all over again. Each day, Kurt's brain damage seems to extend further and further, and it's almost like Alzheimer's. He starts losing his memory, his mobility, his speech all at once.

Blaine tries desperately to hold onto a fraction of hope, but when Henrie's asleep, and Kurt's resting after another vomiting episode, he finds himself in the living room, sitting on the couch, hunched forward with is elbows on his knees. He lets his mind wander, his heart ache, the tears fall, and he wishes more than anything that he could go back in time.

.

People try to convince Blaine to give up. They tell him it'll be much easier if they just put Kurt in a nursing home, or something of the same, but he refuses.

He and Kurt said their vows, and he's going to stand by them. Even if it means working two jobs to pay for Kurt's weekly hospital visits. Even if it means staying up late to be with Kurt when he's not feeling well. Even if it means watching their semi-normal relationship re-crumble before his eyes. Even if it means raising Henrie on his own.

He promised to be a good husband, a good father, and that's what he's going to do.

.

One of the people that approach him is Brenda Suffield, and it only takes a moment to lash out.

"Blaine, don't you think for the sake of your guys' relationship, and for the sake of Henrie's childhood, that it would just be better if you did send Kurt somewhere to be taken care of?"

Blaine stands up, rising to his feet quickly and glaring down at her.

"No. I don't think that," he says acidly. "You know why? Because Kurt is my fucking husband, and I made vows promising to be there in 'sickness and in health' and that's what I plan to do. And I'm sorry to say that at this moment in time, Kurt means a hell of a lot more to me than Henrie. I love Henrie too, but he isn't even legally my child yet- and he certainly doesn't have the same connection a blood son of me or my husband would have."

Brenda opens her mouth to reply, but Blaine cuts her off.

"No," he hisses. "Listen to me! There's no way in hell I will ever send Kurt to a nursing home. I don't care if this brain damage is overtaking him. I don't care that he can hardly respond to me and tell me he loves me. I know he does. I don't care if this is costing me a shitload of money and time and sleep, because I love Kurt and I mean it when I say I'd give up everything to be there for him."

He turns swiftly on his heel, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.

.

I'm slipping away. I can feel it.

.

Kurt throws up once again, and Blaine brushes back the hair from his forehead.

He hasn't eaten in three days and Blaine is starting to panic.

.

I know you. I recognize you. I love you, right?

.

It takes a moment, but Kurt pulls himself up, falling into Blaine's arm. Blaine heaves him into his arms, carrying him back to the bed.

.

Blaine. That's your name.

I'm sorry, but this has become too difficult.

.

Kurt falls asleep quickly, sounding at ease as he breathes quietly.

Blaine slides into bed next to him, wrapping a protective arm around his waist.

.

I love you. Or I did. I hope you know that.

But my body can't handle this anymore. My strength is used up.

.

Blaine falls asleep, praying for improvement.

.

I'm going to miss you so much.

And that little boy- Henrie was his name- is that right?

.

His prayers aren't answered.

.

I love you. I always did and I'm sure I always will deep down.

But I'm sorry.

This is goodbye.

.

It's dark and quiet when Blaine wakes up, curled up by himself. There's a body next to him, but no sound of breathing or a heartbeat besides his own. His pulse quickens, hot and fast in his veins. He sits bolt upright, squinting at Kurt through the darkness.

Two fingers feel for a beat, but it's not there. He swears loudly, tears running thick down his cheeks.

He hovers over Kurt, trembling and hyperventilating, lost and confused. Foolishly, he tries CPR for a few minutes, hanging to that last chance that this isn't the end.

Hands push down hard on Kurt's chest.

"Goddamnit, Kurt!"

Lips meet Kurt's chilled ones, breathing warm breath into his mouth, but it doesn't come back in return.

"Fuck!"

He hangs on tightly to Kurt's wrist for a long, last moment before collapsing onto his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

"No."

.

It's precisely four-seventeen in the morning when Blaine drags himself into the kitchen, feeling lost from his body. His shaking fingers pick up the phone, dialing weakly.

He answers after the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Finn," Blaine croaks, his sinuses clogged, his throat sore.

"Blaine, what happened?" he asks, alarmed.

"I need you to come here as soon as possible. I can't do this alone."

.

It was the aftermath of the brain damage.

It was always going to be that.

.

The service is long, Blaine knows that, but since he could hardly recall any of it later, it seems short. He wishes he could get up, say all that he's ever thought in regards to Kurt, maybe even sing, but he can't. He sits lifelessly in the front, Finn hanging a strong, comforting arm around his shoulders.

Before he knows it, Blaine is standing before the open grave, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, desperately trying to hold the cracking parts of him together. His head swims and his vision blurs with tears.

Suddenly, he feels a gentle tug on his leg.

Henrie stands there, huge, sad eyes staring up at him. The little boy holds aoutt his hand, and Blaine takes it.

"It's going to be okay, Daddy," he whispers, and Blaine wishes that he could believe him.

.

That night, Henrie stays with Finn at the hotel, leaving Blaine the house to himself.

He doesn't know what to do at first; he simply sits in the living room, lost to thoughts, regrets, wishes, and sadness.

Somehow, he ends up on the bathroom floor after puking multiple times, a shattered bottle clutched in his hand and Henrie's adoption papers burning in the fireplace.

.

Two days later, Henrie is whisked away back into the foster care system.

.

It's been a month, and finally Blaine is coming to terms with everything.

The ground is wet as he bends down, sitting cross-legged in front of Kurt's grave. Flowers are clutched in between his fingers as he cries silently, pouring his heart out to the tombstone.

He promises that he'll do his best to cope, to get back into the swing of things and restart his life. He promises to never forget him, and maybe one day find another man that he can love even a fraction. He promises not to do anything stupid and to just live for Kurt.

He promises that he'll always love Kurt no matter what and that one day they might see each other again.

.

I'm very much my old self again- with just a piece missing, and that's you.

Move on with your life. Don't worry about me.

We will be together again; I know.

And I'll always love you too.

.

The flowers look beautiful, spread across the grave in the pale morning sunlight.

"Goodbye, Kurt."

A/N: I'M SORRY.

But I got the idea, and I had to challenge myself. I had to get over my fear of writing death for beloved characters.

As usual, PLEASE REVIEW.

ALSO. It's on my profile, but I don't think I've ever mentioned it in my author's notes. Well, I got a tumblr a while back, so come find me. (icedintheveins). Some of you have already found me and I love talking to you guys so much. SO DON'T BE SHY.