I can say with most certainty that I’ve loved you until the day you died.
When we met at the park back in ‘08, I thought you were going to be this weird nerdy girl that kept to herself all of the time. That was, until you opened up to me about your parents. We connected, as we’ve dealt with similar trauma. It expanded our relationship. It started… us.
I’m sorry that I stopped talking to you for a while after that. You know, work got stressful and all. But I did think about you almost everyday for a sickening amount of time. It felt creepy of me to do, and now, to write it down like this.
When we bumped into each other again at the local coffee shop, I felt that flame reignite. We hit it off almost as quickly as we had before. I could feel the room burn and boil when you walked through that door. But now that you’re gone, all I feel is cold and empty. Void of the love you carried everywhere.
You could brighten up anyone’s day with that smile you held and those dimples that formed when your lips curved. Those lovely brown eyes and amazingly silky-smooth blonde hair caught the attention of guys around for miles. And yet, after all that, you still chose me.
I was a lucky guy.
I remember the way you put your hand on my furry chest and rubbed back and forth, claiming all will be okay. I put my hand there now, moving it along to the pattern of yours.
And the way you’d always leave the bathroom door open while showering? It was alluring the way you wanted me to see your bare skin pressed against that slippery bar of soap. The way your fingers caressed your body as you bathed.
Don’t even get me started on those fantastic dinners you’d always whip up. You were such a master chef in the kitchen that I cannot eat anyone else’s food. Now, it’s all TV dinners and microwavable meals. It cannot compare to what you used to make. Hell, I’ve even tried eating at your mother’s in hopes that she’d have a similar culinary skill. But, unfortunately, no luck there.
Your parents do miss you. We talk almost everyday, remembering the past.
But thinking about all of those moments now… it’s depressing. I’m miserable without you.
Some days, I think of voluntarily joining you in the afterlife, if it even exists.
But we both know what’d happen if I did that.
You’d yell at me, call me stupid for taking my own life while I’m in my prime. You’d slap me in my face and eventually, win the argument entirely.
You know, it’s kinda funny. While we were together, you’ve won every single argument except for one. The one we had right before you died.
Too bad there were stairs right behind you when we fought.
Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you wouldn’t have fell.
Yeah. That sounds about right.
You fell.