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Description
I look up at you, water streaming from my eyes like i'm in some kind of idiot movie, and all i remember saying is

don't say that.

i guess i really do blame you, deep down, but i'd never say that to anybody. maybe a doctor, if my mother ever bothered to let me see one. my headphones rage in my ears, but i move them down, to my neck. this is no place for that, no, not here. my black shirt, black pants, black shoes glower up at me, as if they could. i got all dressed up for you. i hope you like it.
i look around.
everyone is here, princess. they're all here for you. your mom, your dad, your sister, your whole family that i don't even recognize. many of our friends. they pat me on the back like they understand what i'm going through. your necklace is burning an odd shape into my upper chest. searing away the skin and the muscle and the bone until it gets right down to the piece of moving agony that is my heart. i can hear somebody weeping in to my right, but it's my turn now, and i'm looking down into your silly wooden box, waiting for you to open your hazel eyes that i will never see again, and say 'just kidding! got you again!' and we'd all laugh because yeah, you certainly did get me.
but your eyes don't open. i look at your chest, hoping to see it rise and fall with the air that will never again fill your lungs. i look at your hands, seeing a few rings, then back up to your collarbone. you aren't wearing your necklace, but it wasn't exactly your finest jewelry, so i accept this and move my eyes back up to yours, which haven't opened. of course they haven't. your eyes will never open again. they will never again shine with laughter, and your brow will never again furrow with worry, and you will never again look past me at the trees and grass and the man that's walking his dog. i'm not crying. not right now. i got all my tears out before, and there will be many after, but not right now. there are very few speeches given to you and your glory. our friend leans in and whispers you should say something.
I don't say anything for a moment, thinking. then i rise, just as the speaker asks if there's anyone else. i feel my feet take me to the steps and i prepare myself to speak. i don't even know what to say, and i have no stage fright.
she wasn't perfect, but she was close. i look to your body once more. you look like you're asleep. she was my best friend. always there for me, even when i wasn't there for her. i continue to speak, but i don't completely recall what i said. i remember our friend standing and guiding me from your coffin, telling me it will be okay. i sat on your grave for four hours. staring at your headstone, begging god to let this be a dream, please, just this once, but i know it isn't. eventually it gets dark and starts to rain, like i'm in some idiot movie, and i continue to sit on this patch of grass, staring at your name for what feels like many more hours. i hear a call over my shoulder, but chose to ignore it. i don't want to hear anyone's voice, not anyone's except yours. closer this time. and i turn. it's our friend.
i feel more water coming from my eyes, but i'm not sobbing. there's not any violent shaking, like when i first found out.

because i've realized the kind of missing that is missing you isn't violent and shaky and terrifying. the missing that is missing you is much like this rain. it is soft and silent and painfully cold to the bone. i end up in a car that leads to my house that leads to my bedroom floor, where i lay sleeplessly for a very long time, in my black shirt and black pants and black shoes. i can hear people entering the room, and after some time of silence and staring, i can hear them leaving. are they going to help me? try to talk to me? it won't work. the only one who can help me; talk to me, even, is you.

and all i can think about is silent tears streaming down my high and mighty cheekbones and past half-smirking lips that never stop smirking, even in sadness, when you say;

i can't do this anymore.

and when i look up to you and beg;

don't say that

Description
I look up at you, water streaming from my eyes like i'm in some kind of idiot movie, and all i remember saying is

don't say that.

i guess i really do blame you, deep down, but i'd never say that to anybody. maybe a doctor, if my mother ever bothered to let me see one. my headphones rage in my ears, but i move them down, to my neck. this is no place for that, no, not here. my black shirt, black pants, black shoes glower up at me, as if they could. i got all dressed up for you. i hope you like it.
i look around.
everyone is here, princess. they're all here for you. your mom, your dad, your sister, your whole family that i don't even recognize. many of our friends. they pat me on the back like they understand what i'm going through. your necklace is burning an odd shape into my upper chest. searing away the skin and the muscle and the bone until it gets right down to the piece of moving agony that is my heart. i can hear somebody weeping in to my right, but it's my turn now, and i'm looking down into your silly wooden box, waiting for you to open your hazel eyes that i will never see again, and say 'just kidding! got you again!' and we'd all laugh because yeah, you certainly did get me.
but your eyes don't open. i look at your chest, hoping to see it rise and fall with the air that will never again fill your lungs. i look at your hands, seeing a few rings, then back up to your collarbone. you aren't wearing your necklace, but it wasn't exactly your finest jewelry, so i accept this and move my eyes back up to yours, which haven't opened. of course they haven't. your eyes will never open again. they will never again shine with laughter, and your brow will never again furrow with worry, and you will never again look past me at the trees and grass and the man that's walking his dog. i'm not crying. not right now. i got all my tears out before, and there will be many after, but not right now. there are very few speeches given to you and your glory. our friend leans in and whispers you should say something.
I don't say anything for a moment, thinking. then i rise, just as the speaker asks if there's anyone else. i feel my feet take me to the steps and i prepare myself to speak. i don't even know what to say, and i have no stage fright.
she wasn't perfect, but she was close. i look to your body once more. you look like you're asleep. she was my best friend. always there for me, even when i wasn't there for her. i continue to speak, but i don't completely recall what i said. i remember our friend standing and guiding me from your coffin, telling me it will be okay. i sat on your grave for four hours. staring at your headstone, begging god to let this be a dream, please, just this once, but i know it isn't. eventually it gets dark and starts to rain, like i'm in some idiot movie, and i continue to sit on this patch of grass, staring at your name for what feels like many more hours. i hear a call over my shoulder, but chose to ignore it. i don't want to hear anyone's voice, not anyone's except yours. closer this time. and i turn. it's our friend.
i feel more water coming from my eyes, but i'm not sobbing. there's not any violent shaking, like when i first found out.

because i've realized the kind of missing that is missing you isn't violent and shaky and terrifying. the missing that is missing you is much like this rain. it is soft and silent and painfully cold to the bone. i end up in a car that leads to my house that leads to my bedroom floor, where i lay sleeplessly for a very long time, in my black shirt and black pants and black shoes. i can hear people entering the room, and after some time of silence and staring, i can hear them leaving. are they going to help me? try to talk to me? it won't work. the only one who can help me; talk to me, even, is you.

and all i can think about is silent tears streaming down my high and mighty cheekbones and past half-smirking lips that never stop smirking, even in sadness, when you say;

i can't do this anymore.

and when i look up to you and beg;

don't say that