Release

A glistening memory.
A word, a touch.
Tears trickle down
and touch the grave.
The dark, the deep.

A silhouette casts shadow
upon the sorrow underground.

A rose, of the purist color
clasped tightly in her hand.
Unwillingly, she lets it go.
The rose, the hurt, the tightening in her chest.

She breaths.

The rose touches the grave,
and will forever rest with him.

Him, who was more than a lover,
more than a brother.

He was a friend.

---

AN: I've gotten a lot of strange looks about the last bit. They think the two people were having some weird incestuous relationship. No. He's more than a lover because lovers are often fleeting and spur of the moment. and he's more than a brother because even though its the strongest symbolism of closeness in language, you cannot choose your siblings. He was a friend, the greatest of all of these. ((Don't get me wrong about the brother thing, I love my brother's. I was just using the symbolism of closeness.))