A/N: here's a thing I wrote which is -warning- quite sad, so if you don't like sadness then don't read. It's based off the poem 'Stop All the Clocks' by W H Auden, if you've seen Four Weddings and a Funeral then you'll know what I'm talking about.

Human life astounds me. How one second, there can be a person. A person who's worked years and years to get to their current point, a person so filled with life and love, a person who was so very alive. And then the next second, they're gone. One blow to the head in the right place, one gunshot to the heart, one rope around their neck, and they're gone. Forever. A whole entity of what made someone who they were, their whole being. I still cannot truly comprehend how one freak accident or one evil person can end a life. Leaving only a damaged, empty body, which was once filled with a person, but is now just a hollow shell. It's only then, staring at the body which has no resemblance to the person that's gone, that I realise how precious life is. We take it for granted, but everything can change, it can disappear. In just one second.

He was gone. I couldn't quite believe it, it couldn't possibly be real. He was my everything, and I had no idea of how I could possibly continue on in life, when he'd stopped so suddenly. So abruptly. Never to see the light of day again. The cold, lifeless blue eyes that stared back at me from the coffin would never again hold his sparkle, his joy, his innocence.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

I was struggling to go on. In anger, I'd pulled batteries out of every ticking clock, their harsh faces scornfully reminding me that time continued. Each soft tick that I loathed represented one second. One second was all it took. How could time continue, how could time continue to tick, when he was no longer here? My phone had long since run out of battery, and I hadn't yet put it on charge. How could I, when all it did was to remind me that there were still people, living lives, doing things, arranging things, being happy? I didn't want to hear anything, I had played no music. How could I, every song held a memory. Of him. Of us. Of a time when I wasn't sitting here all alone, forever wishing for that one fucking second to never have happened. Let them mourn for him, let them cry. I can no longer cry for him, for I have long since cried out all my tears. There is nothing I can do but sit here, rocking back and forth, emitting choked gasps and silent sobs.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

I could not go out into the street without wanting to cry out in anguish at all the busy people, rushing, having lives. How dare they? How dare they? How dare they continue on, when he had left forever? How dare they, when he wasn't there to enjoy another second of happiness, ever again? I wanted to grab the nearest passer-by and scream in their face, how dare they? I wanted them all to know my pain, to know the terrible fate that had come to him. I wanted to write it in the sky, to tell anyone who would listen and have them tell everyone else. Because the idea of going on, of walking, running, rushing, of smiling, laughing, being happy. It all seemed impossible.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

He was everything to me. We'd spend almost every moment together, and even when we were apart, we'd be content with the comfort that the other was never far away, they'd be returning soon. But how wrong I was. He took up every second of every minute of every hour of every day. And now that he was gone, all of my time was empty - in fact, I no longer had any concept of time. I had no idea how long I'd sat there, not wanting to touch anything, because everything reminded me of him. His life, how he'd been so alive. His almost-empty coffee mug, still sitting in the sink. His laptop, still sitting on the couch. When the people started coming, they would touch his bedroom, which I'd left to be untouched by anyone else. They didn't understand when I wanted to stop them, didn't understand how important it was to preserve every trace of his life - because he would never again be there to make any more. And that one second, it had taken away from me the one thing that I never thought I'd lose.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to see any signs of life, any sign that things can continue on. I wish I could control the unforgiving signs of nature, the twinkling stars, the glowing moon, the rising sun, the rolling waves of an ocean, the rustling of branches in a wood. I wanted to stop them all, to enclose anything and anyone that thought things could somehow now be okay. Because nothing would ever be alright again. How could they expect me to live, when I had no life left? I was numb from emotion, the sadness which turned into anger having now turned into numbness. Yet somehow I could still move, still walk, still utter forced words at his funeral that could never do justice to what should have been said, been felt. Because now, there's nothing left for me here. In that one second, he'd disappeared. And with him, he'd taken my life. But I wasn't dead yet. Why not?

Don't worry, I told them, I'm going to be alright. I'm going to find him. Phil, where are you? Hold up, hold up one second. Wait for me. I'm coming.