Writing prompt courtesy of Mel.
Fandom: Good Omens
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Aziraphale doesn't think about it anymore.
In the first few millennia -- were they millennia? they felt like minutes -- he couldn't stop thinking about it. About Earth. He replayed his last few years repeatedly, searching his memories for the point where it all started to go wrong. He knows there was a point where he could have stopped it all, could have saved Earth, a point where trying would have worked. But he missed it.
He misses the sushi. He misses the colours. Heaven is full of pale white light and sterile love, and he is so lonely. He thinks in shades of brown and grey, and he no longer wonders where it all went wrong.
His memories aren't fading, so much as crumbling to dust. He begins to doubt if there ever really was a golden-eyed demon who drove a sleek car and took him out for Peking duck and wasn't all that bad, really. He feels almost certain that he did not see that demon die on Uriel's sword. A few more minutes -- millennia -- and he will no longer remember that he has memories at all.
He misses Earth.