I Remember Everything About Her

I remember everything about her.

Her smiles, her laugh, and how she smelled like apples. How her eyes would crinkle when she grinned and the freckles on the bridge of her nose. How her hair was a million different shades of auburn, red, and gold. How she always made sure to hold the door for someone when leaving or entering a building. How she tended to talk a lot when she was nervous. How she was ticklish and how she breathed. The softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin and the beat of her heart. How her green eyes would sparkle when she was happy.

But most of all, I remember the night she caught me kissing another girl at the party, how she blinked so many times to keep the tears from blurring her sight. How she smiled that beautiful, sad, smile, and how teardrops ran down her cheekbones and dripped on to the carpet. How the happiness left her eyes and how she nodded with resignation. How she turned and left without another word.

And then I remember hearing about an accident, something about a driver crashing head on into a tree and being killed instantly. I remember her pale, lifeless body lying in the coffin for the world to see. I remember her little sister, sitting in the corner, sobbing. I remember how they lowered the coffin into the ground, and then covered it with dirt and flowers.

I remember thinking, I'm sorry.