(Somewhat based off of the Jeff Buckley song. Listen to "Lover, You Should've Come Over" while reading, and you'll get what I mean.)

Lover, You Should've Come Over

When I had arrived at the graveyard to attend the burial that morning, I could barely see as I drove. The rain was pouring down so hard, outside just looked like a mass of water and dark grey, and my car wasn't adapted too well to it. I had almost crashed a few times, due to the slippery roads and sharp turns it took to get to the graveyard here. I wondered how I was going to get home without getting myself killed - I guess I'd rent a hotel room and wait until there wasn't a small layer of water over the roads even on the highest roads up in the mountain.

As I pulled in, I could hear the wheels of the car park on the loose gravel, and as I turned off the car, the sound of the pouring rain became louder. It was somewhat peaceful - but I didn't have time to be peaceful when I was already late for a burial. I quickly got out of the car, and I went inside of the church. No one was there, but I saw the rests of those at the burial braving the rain, and huddling close together to keep from being soaked. I could see the large puddles each person was walking in, and their shoes were obviously soaked. I quickly went to join them, and I could feel the water beginning to get to my socks as I walked towards them.

I saw the casket going with them, and I shuddered when I thought of the fact that there was a body in there. I kept quiet and looked towards me to try and keep myself from stepping in mud too deeply, and then almost like a switch being turned on, I started to feel my throat tighten. And I thought of who was in that coffin. I almost cried then. I guess I should have. No one would have seen me do it, anyway.

I thought of four days ago, when it hadn't been raining, and at this time, I was sitting in my living room, thinking of the person that used to be in that body that currently resides in that coffin. I looked at the phone a few times, thinking maybe to call and talk to her. We'd been in a fight earlier that day, and she came to see me. When she had come, we tried to talk, but it just all went to hell, and we fought worse. Finally, I had tried to leave her alone there and go to see a friend. She followed me to my friend's home, and she angrily yelled about how I didn't talk to her at all. She left me again, and I finally went home again. And there I was, thinking of her. I called once before, but she wasn't there. Maybe she was just ignoring me. I felt horrible at thinking that maybe she was ignoring me, and I wanted to see her badly. I knew she had wanted to see me, and I waited for a long time, wanting there to be a knock at my door. But I never heard it.

Most of the time I was at home that day, I slept. That's when the storm came, and the thunder eventually woke me up. When I slept, I felt the best. I always felt like I was accepted and loved when I slept, which is probably why I get as much sleep as possible. I sleep a lot more now.

Well, when I woke up, it was two in the morning, and the thunder hurt my ears. I finally gave up on the hope I could get back to sleep, and for some reason, I went out onto my deck in the apartment, wrapped in a blanket, and sat on the cement there. I glanced at the bridge very close by, and I saw dim flashing ambulance lights. I glanced at my phone again, and I saw the "0" brightly flashing in my messages box. I felt worse now, because I thought maybe she had come by to see me. But I knew she hadn't. And I was alone there, with no one but myself. She probably never wanted to see me again. But she loved me. And I loved her. I don't know how many times I know someone has loved me, and I've messed up everything. Relationships used to bother me a lot. I never felt that I could commit to anything. But I'd been aging, and once I had met what had been once been the girl of my dreams, I thought to settle down. Maybe have a family.

But though I wanted to end it so badly four days ago, I couldn't because of the fact that I needed to start acting my age and settle down. I was fairly young - twenty-seven years old, to be exact -, so maybe I had somewhat more time to act the way I had. But, I didn't feel like that was acceptable. I don't know how to describe it. I felt young enough to continue to never look for anyone that I would spend the rest of my life with, but I felt like I should.

As I stood with the others at the burial, I saw one of the women look over at me, and a startling look of anger came on her face. Many of the others looked at me the same way now. I breathed in slowly, and I looked at the casket as it was being lowered into the ground. I finally turned away and I felt, feeling the water slide around and through my shoes. I walked back into the church, and I sat in a row in the back. I knew I had caused unimaginable damage to their lives, and I knew I would never want to be in their presence again. They would hurt more - and I would feel that unbearable guilt I did as the day after I waited and waited for her return to my apartment, or at least to get just a call.

When I got a call after the thunder and rain had stopped three days ago, I didn't want to believe what I heard. I listened to her mother talking to me about how her car had been found - driven off of the bridge. I felt a tear slide down my face when I looked down the road and I saw the bridge, and I remembered the ambulance lights. They thought it had just been an accident, but then there was a "suicide note" found on the dashboard of the car. And the note had been addressed to me.

With a shaky voice, I told her mother she hadn't called and told me she was coming here, when she had mentioned that she had called her mother one last time, saying that she would be here during the night. She said that her daughter's voice had a depressed sound to it. I told her mother we had been in a fight, and I didn't think she would ever want to see me again. But, in the "suicide note", as it was addressed to me, she wrote that she loved me with all of her heart, and there would never be anyone else that would take that place. Her mother told me that she had already prepared a funeral - and that it would be tomorrow.

I went to that funeral. Her "suicide note" was read. And yet no one knew that I was there. I left silently and I went to her old apartment. I looked and saw her bed was made, and that her window had been left open. It had began to rain slightly, and the smell was refreshing, yet it made dozens of tears spill out onto my face. I went and sat on her bed, and I turned onto my side and I tried to rest and sleep there. I could somewhat "smell" what her hair had smelled like on that pillow. It made me cry again. I knew that many people hadn't liked her, and that no one but myself would want her back, spare her mother. Her father and most relatives had not liked her well. I didn't understand why. I tried to sleep again, but I just couldn't relax into it, no matter how hard I tried.

I thought of death then, and for some reason, a quote (from I believe what was) the television show "The X-Files" flashed through my mind. "Nobody ever really dies". And I thought of how she wasn't ever really gone. I knew that if she did indeed love me, then she wasn't dead, that death cannot destroy you, and it can't destroy love - it's never over. And though I would give up my life to have her back to kiss one more time, that I would give up any amount of money to see her smile again when we had slept next to each other in this bed and laughed, that I would bleed myself dry to hear her laughter again, and that the memory of her would always make me cry - it's never over.

But then again, if I ever had the chance to prove that loyalty to her, it may never work. I could never keep a strong love for someone, but now I believed I could.

As I pulled myself up from her bed, I left her apartment, and I walked back to my car. I could see her family members going towards her apartment, and they angrily glared at me. "That's him," her sister whispered to her younger brother, and he glared at me. I just got in my car and I sat there, thinking of how stupid I was for going to her funeral. I felt stupid because I caused so much more pain for people to actually see me there. I didn't know that my mere presence would make those who knew her well fall to their knees and sob. I couldn't tell that I brought hell into people's lives. I've done unfixable damage - to her family, to my family, to her, and to myself.

I drove back to my home, and I sat there on my deck again. I saw no ambulance on the bridge - just some roadwork being done there. I sighed, and I went back onto my couch. I sat there, and I thought of how I still badly wanted to have my phone ring, and to hear a knock on my door. And as I sat there, I smiled to myself, and I thought of how I would want to hear a knock on that door for the rest of my life.

Four days ago, I leaned back on that couch and I waited for her. And now, I'm still waiting for her in a way. Why? It's never over; I'll always be waiting for her. She should have come over - and it's still not too late.