She was beautiful, she was funny, she was really sarcastic, she was emotional, she was mine.


Everywhere I went all I heard was the past tense. She was. She had. I couldn't accept it, but I knew it was true. She'd never walk in my door again, come over to the couch where I was laying, kiss my cheek and ask how my day was. Never again would I wake up with my arms around her.

Never again.

I looked at the sky and let my tears fall. It just wasn't fair. None of it was! She shouldn't have kil - taken. She loved life, loved living! I had lived only for her, but now my sun had set, and I was left with an empty black sky.

My family worried. My friends worried. My co-workers worried. Everyone was worried . . . about me. I heard the whispers, the hushed voices about how I was wasting away, falling apart, looking like death warmed over. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't.

Mostly, I just existed. Living was not the right word for whatever I was doing. I did was I was supposed to do, asked no questions, I was tidier than I had ever been in my life, because I was unconsciously trying to keep busy. Maybe I was restless. Maybe. But I had tried going out to dinner parties, family outings. It always felt awkward, and I always caught myself watching the door, waiting for the addition to the event that would never come.

I blinked, refocusing on the stars above me. Was she up there looking down at me wishing she could still be here? Was she wishing I could move on, find happiness again? If she was, it was a futile hope.

She was more than beautiful, she was utterly unforgettable, and as long as she was there and I was here, I would be in pain. I would die little by little until I was holding her hand. My eyes found the sky again. Was she there watching me? I didn't know, but I stood, balancing myself on the balcony's railing. I didn't know, but I was going to find out.

I jumped.

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