Note: I wrote this over a year ago after reading The Sweet Far Thing for the second time, and becoming just as depressed as the first time I read it. It's a beautiful novel; Libba Bray is an amazing author. I apologize if the writing is sub par, as I wrote it a while ago, but I hope it brings some comfort to those still saddened by his death. Enjoy!

"When I dream, I dream of him."

-The Sweet Far Thing

Months have passed since the final battle, my final days at Spence, our final kiss...

And yet, it feels like no time has gone by. University has been wonderful in New York. There is so much more here- more freedom, more hope. I take to my studies very thoroughly, lost in the knowledge of the world. I'm content here, perhaps even happy. Like a sun shining freely, only occasionally covered by a single rain cloud. A single moment of despair.

My rain cloud has been my dreams. As I blow out my candle, myself tucked snugly in my small, but cozy apartment, is where the torment begins. At night you cannot keep thoughts out of your head. It's easy, simple really, to keep thoughts away in the daytime: merely keep yourself busy. But at night, you are vulnerable. At night thoughts invade like a burglar in the dark.

My thoughts seem to always fall to him. Him. I cannot even say his name for it brings me pain. It's like I am zoomed in only on him. I think of his warm, brown skin, his long eyelashes, and his soft, full lips. And then the scene expands, and he is pulled away from me, pulled into that wretched tree, into his death.

Tonight I am tired of thinking, tired of it all. I light the candle again. My bed is under the low, slanting, part of the roof. Just like at Spence, how charming. I can touch the ceiling while sitting on my bed. I reach into the neck of my nightgown, and untuck my crescent eye amulet, the sharp edge of the moon glinting in the candlelight. I unhook the necklace and hold it in my hand, I can faintly feel the power emulating off of it. I scratch the sharp corner on the ceiling. My mind zones out and I carve something into the plaster.

When I finish I can only stare. I drew the symbol- the circle with the intertwined hands. The symbol of undying love, the symbol in the Cave of Sighs. I press my hand to the carving. I think back to the day when I showed him the realms. I remember our dream.

The wedding.

Him on horseback, taking me away.

Him drawing the circle around us, seven times.

Ourselves under the tree, the part where I couldn't be sure if I was dreaming. The part where we expressed our love to the fullest. Him and I, as one.

And I think of after the dream, when we pulled our hands away, the way he kissed me. Not just once, but eight times. Like his love was for me only, never to be shared.

I brush my hand against my face, surprised to find warm tears.

Tears get old after a while, I suppose.

I'm sick of crying.

I'm no longer a child, I am seventeen, I am working towards my future. I refuse to be bound into a corset. I stare at the symbol wondering if I shall ever love again.

Yes.

I know that is the answer, yet I am not ready to believe it. I don't want to love anyone else. I long to talk to Felicity, to see how she is faring. Funny how life is, we both lost whom we loved the most. Kartik. Pippa.

But I know Felicity will bounce back. She is a much stronger person than myself. But I shall be courageous. Face the sun, no matter if it blinds.

I press both of my hands onto the carving, trying to summon some of Kartik's love. I realize how tired I am.

I snuff the candle and fall asleep, no thoughts to distract me now.

I dream he is here. Not past memories like I usually dream. No, in my dream he is in my apartment, lying next to me. He holds my hand, and I can feel the gentle warmth of it. He stares at me, his face merely inches away from mine. He strokes my hair.

"I love you, Gemma," he whispers.

I just look at him, trying to memorize his face.

"Enjoy life. Remember, no one can keep out the sun, no matter how hard they try," he says, cradling my face in his hands. "You're my sun, never stop shining."

With that he kisses me, and I lay my head on his chest. His breathing is steady. It sounds like a lullaby. I lay with him; in my subconscious I know I am dreaming, but I don't care.

Dreams don't always have to be fearful, troublesome. Kartik once said that he believed in dreams.

And so do I,

so do I.