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Description
He had thousands of pictures, some in black and white, some in colour. The quality of the pictures improved the further one got down the hall. The only exception to that rule was the paintings, each one hanging carefully and treated gently so they wouldn’t be ruined with time. He could remember each face, each voice, as if he had just heard them yesterday.

He gently tacked another picture to his wall, black suit sleeve a sharp contrast to the light elements of the image. She had been so pretty, light blonde hair and ice blue eyes. Always paired with a big white smile. After some time she had lost her hair, instead wrapping a pretty pink scarf around her head. Her smile never faded though as she fought through her sickness.

It hurt to lose her. It always hurt to lose one of them. The ache never really faded either. He always lost people, it was the nature of his life. He’d make friends, every year expanding his ring of people, only to slowly use them as their time ran out. Some he lost sooner than others. Some, like dear Clara, hung on for long amounts of time. Clara was currently 90, and probably asleep in the arm chair. He watched over her, helping her where she could no longer help herself. Her picture wasn’t yet up on the wall, resting in his nightstand for safe keeping.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fond little memories flickering past him. Thompson’s laugh, Dana’s fashion sense, Harry’s adventurousness. He had so many memories, and he loved all of them. He’d had hundreds of people in his life, some lovers, some friends, some almost like siblings. It hurt to lose them, it always hurt to lose them. But, he was glad he got to meet all of them, to be a part of their lives while he could.

Harper would never regret becoming immortal. No matter how much their losses hurt him.

Description
He had thousands of pictures, some in black and white, some in colour. The quality of the pictures improved the further one got down the hall. The only exception to that rule was the paintings, each one hanging carefully and treated gently so they wouldn’t be ruined with time. He could remember each face, each voice, as if he had just heard them yesterday.

He gently tacked another picture to his wall, black suit sleeve a sharp contrast to the light elements of the image. She had been so pretty, light blonde hair and ice blue eyes. Always paired with a big white smile. After some time she had lost her hair, instead wrapping a pretty pink scarf around her head. Her smile never faded though as she fought through her sickness.

It hurt to lose her. It always hurt to lose one of them. The ache never really faded either. He always lost people, it was the nature of his life. He’d make friends, every year expanding his ring of people, only to slowly use them as their time ran out. Some he lost sooner than others. Some, like dear Clara, hung on for long amounts of time. Clara was currently 90, and probably asleep in the arm chair. He watched over her, helping her where she could no longer help herself. Her picture wasn’t yet up on the wall, resting in his nightstand for safe keeping.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fond little memories flickering past him. Thompson’s laugh, Dana’s fashion sense, Harry’s adventurousness. He had so many memories, and he loved all of them. He’d had hundreds of people in his life, some lovers, some friends, some almost like siblings. It hurt to lose them, it always hurt to lose them. But, he was glad he got to meet all of them, to be a part of their lives while he could.

Harper would never regret becoming immortal. No matter how much their losses hurt him.