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I’ve done a lot of things I regret in my life…I’ve also got a lot of regrets about who I am, things I’ve allowed to happen…things I didn’t allow to happen…things I missed out on. But that’s not unusual in anyone’s life…we all have things we regret.
The one thing I regret the most, however, isn’t something that I did or did not do…it’s something that I didn’t get to hear.
The one thing I regret more than anything…is that I never got to hear *him* say it.
Everything that Sawyer told me…about the chance encounter he had with my father in Sydney...the things he said there were things that I wanted to hear. They were things I *needed* to hear in his voice, his words. Even if it was a damn phone call, I needed to know what he had to say, and I needed to hear it in his voice.
I needed the hesitations between breaths, the stammer he got when speaking was difficult. I needed the touch of arrogance that was always in his voice and manner to inflame when he started talking about something he couldn’t handle…as if making someone else feel small could help him get through the difficult task of admitting to something that was totally against his nature.
I needed my father to tell me…because then he might not have died in Sydney. Maybe I would have come for him earlier. And even if I hadn’t? Even if that one phone call changed *nothing*…if I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to bury my father so quickly.
I know what Sawyer did was a gift…his own way of saying goodbye, thank you, and everything else in between before leaving for what might have been for good…but as grateful as I’ll always be to him for that, I’ll always regret that the voice that told me my father loved me was a Southern drawl and not my father’s crisp, careful diction.
I will always regret that I needed it to be over.
Muse: Jack Shephard
Fandom: LOST
Words: 345
The one thing I regret the most, however, isn’t something that I did or did not do…it’s something that I didn’t get to hear.
The one thing I regret more than anything…is that I never got to hear *him* say it.
Everything that Sawyer told me…about the chance encounter he had with my father in Sydney...the things he said there were things that I wanted to hear. They were things I *needed* to hear in his voice, his words. Even if it was a damn phone call, I needed to know what he had to say, and I needed to hear it in his voice.
I needed the hesitations between breaths, the stammer he got when speaking was difficult. I needed the touch of arrogance that was always in his voice and manner to inflame when he started talking about something he couldn’t handle…as if making someone else feel small could help him get through the difficult task of admitting to something that was totally against his nature.
I needed my father to tell me…because then he might not have died in Sydney. Maybe I would have come for him earlier. And even if I hadn’t? Even if that one phone call changed *nothing*…if I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to bury my father so quickly.
I know what Sawyer did was a gift…his own way of saying goodbye, thank you, and everything else in between before leaving for what might have been for good…but as grateful as I’ll always be to him for that, I’ll always regret that the voice that told me my father loved me was a Southern drawl and not my father’s crisp, careful diction.
I will always regret that I needed it to be over.
Muse: Jack Shephard
Fandom: LOST
Words: 345
