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At a certain age, the days stop feeling as long as they used to. Perhaps it’s complacency or a trick of an aging brain, but there’s no denying the feeling that there were days, distant in memory, that seemed to stretch hours beyond the traditional twenty-four.
So much could be compacted into such a short time back then, so many adventures and triumphs used to fit between a sunrise and sunset.
It’s an irrational thought, of course. The number of hours in a day never changes, but something strange must occur over the years; a sort of miniscule shift that one doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Until one day you wake up as usual, and, with the blink of an eye, the sun has set again.
Nowadays, Philza finds there’s barely enough time in the day to make decent progress on his latest build. He’s been working on the basement for a few weeks now, slowly watching it come together day by day. Still, he’s proud of the progress he’s made. It's a welcome distraction to the chaos outside his base.
Philza would not consider himself an old man, but he’s older than most. He feels it in his lower back some nights after an especially strenuous day of work or between his shoulder blades before a big storm– an injury from years ago that acts up every now and again. His friends laugh at him for it, but that doesn’t make him “old.” And while time waits for no one, it certainly tends to favor the young-er. He loves to see it favor those around him when he hears his friends laughing and making chaotic plans that only young people could concoct. When they look to him for guidance or to simply share their ideas, it makes him feel favored as well. The time isn’t so heavy in those moments, but with it comes another funny feeling that is all too familiar to him.
He would never dream of complaining about the time he’s had. A long life is a blessing, after all. Even if the days pass quickly, he’s happy to see them come and go. Still it all feels too short, and yet incredibly and irrevocably long at the same time.
It’s a feeling that bubbles to the surface again as he returns upstairs and puts his tools away in their respective chests. His eyes catch on the portrait of Wilbur hanging on the wall as he lets the final chest fall shut.
Son , he thinks with a smile that falters after a moment. Wilbur looks young in the picture, but Philza can never decide if the expression on his face could be considered ‘happy’ or not. Before he came here, he would definitely consider it happy– he’s smiling after all. But now… It seems there were a lot of situations he read incorrectly, maybe some he willfully ignored. If he could do it again… Well, there’s no use thinking about that.
The cool air greets him as he steps out onto the porch that connects his and Techno’s houses and threatens to blow the hat off his head. He manages to catch it and hold it in place before it gets away. Phil straightens his hat as the wind calms and takes a seat in the chair he usually finds himself in at this hour. The sun is just beginning to sink, inching closer to the horizon and painting colors across the sky.
It’s quiet in the area this evening except for the occasional snore from Steve the polar bear. Techno is away training as usual and Ranboo is off spending time with his family. It’s nice to have a moment of peace with no argument to interrupt or problem to solve. However, his mind tends to make something up for him to worry about in quiet moments like these. It’s easy when watching the sky to remember all the past sunsets he’s enjoyed. From there it isn’t hard for his mind to continue drifting to memories of the past. To the people he’s loved, to those he’s lost, then to the people he loves in the present tense, and one step further to the people he will have loved in the future past.
It’s a familiar sinking feeling that settles in his chest as he is reminded of the fact that time never slows and things simply go on. Time only stops for individual people at their given times. He thinks of Wilbur’s portrait again– deep down, he knows what to call the expression on his face.
He thinks that sometimes she can sense when he starts to get this way; when the end to a limitless time feels too near. When he remembers the lives he’s lost and the lives he’s taken. When the images of Wilbur playing with a toy sword as a little boy and Wilbur thrusting a sword into his hands and begging for death as a grown man mix together into parallel memories. When did the toy become real? When did he get so much older? The blood is still so warm on his hands despite the biting cold.
Philza looks down, almost expecting to see his palms stained red again, but he finds them clean as ever. Before he has time to fall into another spiral of thought, he feels an unusually warm breeze blow from behind him. It rustles the branches of the trees in the newly grown forest and warms the back of his neck. He remembers where and when he is: at his house, enjoying the evening. Safe.
She always appears and pulls him back to reality. He wonders if maybe she comes seeking comfort as well. After all, she was there too. She’s always there. For better or worse, moments of loss are some of the short occasions they have always fully been able to share.
It’s bittersweet really, but it’s strange how the connection never taints his feelings for her. The opposite is actually true. Her presence, knowing he’ll see her there with him in his darkest times, makes them more palatable. No matter how it hurts, no matter the fact that the ache will never fully fade– he knows he can face anything as long as she is there with him.
Another warm breeze blows by him and tips his hat forward, and he swears he hears her laugh as the brim covers his eyes. A tear, for what emotion he isn’t completely sure, falls from his eye, and he wipes it away quickly before straightening his hat. For a moment, he thinks he managed to hide it from her, but then he feels a gentle weight on his shoulder like someone has placed their hand there. Phil smiles in spite of himself as another tear falls.
Every atom in his body yearns for him to turn around and face her, but he knows that if he were to look he’d find himself alone. She stops for him when she can, appearing in whatever way she is able at the time, and he could never ask her for more than that. Besides, loving a goddess is an excellent way to develop patience.
He knows their next meeting will come swiftly enough, so he faces forward and watches as snow begins to fall. The fresh layer of ice glistens in the moonlight as they enjoy each others’ company for as long as they can.
“Sort of romantic, yeah?” Phil says with a smile, and the pressure on his shoulder tightens gently.
The sound of footsteps approaching from behind breaks the moment. Phil reaches for his bow and spins around to face the intruder. His aim is met by a nervous looking Ranboo standing under an umbrella.
“Just me, Phil!” he exclaims with a little wave, careful to keep his ungloved hands beneath the umbrella’s coverage.
“Oh, sorry, Mate,” Phil says, lowering his weapon. “How’s Tubbo?” With the threat eliminated, he glances around and sighs. He knew she wouldn’t be standing there, but it’s disappointing all the same.
Until next time, love , he thinks. Whether he tells her or not, he knows she knows. He still likes to say it, though.
“They’re great! Real great,” Ranboo says as his tail begins to wave from side to side. It slows after a moment when a look of concern washes over his face, “Are you okay, Phil?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s pretty out here on nights like these,” Phil replies, motioning to the picturesque snowy scene at his back.
“No, I mean, aren’t you freezing sitting out here without your coat? It’s snowing.”
Phil looks down and laughs, noticing for the first time that he forgot to put on his coat. “Oh, I guess I did. Don’t worry, mate. Hypothermia hasn’t gotten me yet.” He rubs his hands together, feeling cold for the first time that evening, and his eyes drift past Ranboo to the forest behind him, a fond smile on his face.
“Was She here?” Ranboo asks, observant as ever. Phil was a little impressed that he remembered her.
“She was.”
“Oh! Is She inside? Can I meet Her?” Ranboo asks, tail wagging again.
Phil claps a hand on his shoulder and ushers him towards the door to his house, “That’s not really how it works unfortunately. She already left. Why don’t you come inside?”
Ranboo gratefully steps into the house and closes his umbrella, and Phil wanders closer to the fireplace, finally starting to really feel the effects of the cold air set in.
“Aw man, I’d really like to meet Her. Do you think She’ll be back?” Ranboo asks, joining him by the fire. Phil looks at him, a sad expression falling over his face despite the friendly smile still on his lips.
“Let’s hope you don’t. Not for a long while, mate. I’ll tell her you said hi, though. She loves hearing about you boys.”
“She does?”
“Yeah, she loves you lot.”
“Oh! That’s nice,” Ranboo smiles, and Phil can’t keep his smile from widening.
“Now what can I do for you tonight, Ranboo?” He asks, taking off his hat and hanging it on a hook by the door. Ranboo starts explaining an issue he’s having with making his new farm as efficient as possible, and that feeling– the favor– slowly washes over him as he does his best to find a solution.
They draw up plans together, Phil’s messy handwriting and Ranboo’s clean script scattered across a blueprint for a farming plot that should get the job done. Ranboo thanks him for his help and rolls the blueprint up to carry home with him. He prepares to open his umbrella when he steps outside again, but the snow has stopped so he can walk the short distance without it’s coverage.
Phil watches him go, not returning inside until his friend is safely in his house. The cold air begins to nip at his ears, so he wanders back inside to clean up. He’s about to put out the lanterns when he realizes he is no longer alone. He doesn’t see her as much as he feels her presence fill the room.
A warm weight rests on his hand, and he abandons the lantern immediately.
“I like him,” she says clear as day. It almost startles him how near she sounds, but the room is still empty. Though there is a moment when the lanterns’ flames flicker in such a way he swears he can almost make out the figure of a woman in a dark gown standing before him.
“He wants to meet you,” Phil replies easily as he allows the light to play tricks on his eyes.
“That’s sweet,” she says, already sounding far away again. “Tell him… No, I don’t suppose you can tell him that… Oh! Tell him I think his farm will do well. Tell him to build it near the forest.”
Phil laughs, “Gotten into gardening lately, have you?”
“Perhaps,” she laughs and the weight on his hand tightens.
“I’ll tell him, I promise. I’m sure he’ll have a million questions.”
“It’s only natural to be curious,” she reminds him.
“I miss you,” he hears himself say before he can think better of it, and he sees her gentle smile flicker in the lantern light before suddenly a gust of wind blows through the room, extinguishing all the lanterns and leaving them in darkness.
With the lights out, he feels the weight on his hand tighten into the grip of a hand, and he immediately squeezes back. His eyes don’t have time to adjust, but they don’t need to. An aura of light shines around her as she stands in front of him fully formed.
She is beautiful as ever, black hair flowing past her shoulders and eyes shining brightly in the darkness. If it was not for her inherent glow, her gown would nearly disappear into the shadows, but Philza has no trouble making out the shimmering dark purple fabric. She is usually taller than him, but in this moment, perhaps to spare the ceilings, she appears at a height similar to his. She is the definition of sublime: magnificent and terrifying.
Without hesitation, he pulls her into his arms and hugs her tightly. There is no better feeling than when she hugs him back.
“I’ve missed you too,” she replies, her voice soft.
“Stay,” he asks in a moment of selfishness. Perhaps time has not taught him enough, he is not the patient man he pretends to be.
“Make no haste, my love,” she says, running a hand back through his hair, gazing at him like she is savoring every moment they are this close. He knows he certainly is. “I will see you again soon.”
For a moment they are quiet as they both lean forward, resting their foreheads together.
“Goodnight, Phil.”
“Goodnight, Kristin.”
He misses her almost immediately, but he can only find it in himself to feel so incredibly lucky to see her twice in one night, to have held her in his arms for a moment.
He knows that there will come a day in the end, the very end, when they will meet for the final time and never part again. Though time moves more quickly every day, forever is a very long time, and neither of them are in any rush. Until that day, he will meet her where he can and cherish every moment.
Because I could not stop for Death –
[She] kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – [She] knew no haste
[...]
Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –
"Because I Could Not Stop For Death" by Emily Dickinson