Chapter Three : Flaming Eyes

I've always wondered how a man that never cared about anything could shoot down an amazing person like you so easily. After these long seven months of living without you, I've come to find I hate that you told me all those years ago that if you died, I'd have to move on. I hate that I promised that I would, and I hate myself even more for finding a man that I love almost as much as I loved you. I still love you, you punk. Even with the new man in my life, I swear that I'd rather die than live another second with the knowledge that I'll never feel your small body pressed to mine. It kills me inside, and every time my new boyfriend and I pass by your grave, I want to lie down and join you in the afterlife. He doesn't understand; he's never lost anyone.

But I have, my love. Did you know that you were the only thing that brought me back home every night? Did you know that regardless of anything I ever said to you, you meant more to me, your love meant more to me, than any other man in the world could ever come to mean to me. I know I never told you exactly what I felt in the nights I held you tight to my chest. I know that even though I hardly ever told you that I loved you, I hoped that with each kiss I gave you, you'd know. You'd be able to feel my love in my kisses, and though you've been gone for almost a year, I still remember and I still cherish the softness of your lips. You have no idea how much I wish I could go back in time and stop the moment that ended your life. You have no idea how many people I would murder to bring you back just to hold you, kiss you, tell you I love you until words run dry.

I miss you like crazy, my love. The memory of the night that you died, the memory of the second your eyes lose the light I'd come to love to gaze into, the memory of your hand, still holding mine, losing its tightened grip, is etched into my mind. The moment you died, clutching lifelessly onto my hand, you took me with you. My heart still beats, but my eyes, even when gazing into those of my boyfriend's, see no beauty.

Is it possible to smell the beauty of a rose when my love is dead and gone?

Could I really with good conscience smile at the sight of a sunset on the ocean?

Neither one is possible.

Not without my love right beside me.

It's too hard for me to even think of doing such things without you to smile beside me as I turn to hand you a rose, or as I wrap you in my embrace in front of the setting sun. Without you to take my offered hand, a rose means nothing as it crushes beneath my feet. Walking slowly on the path that you and I used to travel, my hands tucked in my pockets, I allow myself to hum something of a dreary tune. Giving my hair a light toss to shake the falling raindrops out. Glancing up, I wonder if it's you crying. Are you crying, love? Because if you are…please don't let any more of those tears fall from your shining eyes. A light sigh runs past my lips; I wonder how things would have been if I had been the one in front of the gun. Would it be worth it then?

No.

Because there is no way in heaven, hell, or the space lingering between that I could ever ask you to endure what I've been slowly working through. I could never ask you to live a life of loneliness, because even though you'd find another love as I've forced myself to do, merely because of your request, you wouldn't be happy. I know you wouldn't. But I still wish that I could have at least died with you.

But the only way I can ever hand you a rose would be me resting one on the top of your headstone. The only way you and I could share a sunset is if the trees decided to blow to the side for one moment, and if I leaned against the cold marble that sits atop your grave. The simple beauties in life have lost their sensuality, and it's all because I wasn't there a second earlier.

I feel like it was me that killed you, my love. I feel like it is my own fault that that trigger was pulled.

Even when I do share silent moments with your ever-lingering spirit, I find it hard to smile. Another beauty that was ripped away. Not even my boyfriend can make me smile like you once made me smile. A light smirk is all I've been able to muster. He doesn't know how to end my depression, and I don't think I want to tell him. I want to be able to let the reality of your death sink in, but then again, I don't think I can handle any more of this…this misery that I've thrown myself into. Loving you then losing you ripped the still-beating heart from my chest. Losing you made the simple things in life ever so lonely.

I still wear the ring you gave me on the day we stood before our friends.

You died with yours…is it still there? I know it sounds like I shouldn't ask, hell, I know you're still proudly sporting the golden band, the one tangible token of the love you and I shared. But the ring doesn't matter as much as your smile does.

Your ever-present smile will never leave my memory, and locked away with it I will keep your touch, your kiss, your scent, your eyes…everything I know is real.

Your ever-beaming smile will never leave my heart.