Warnings : Death :(
Word Count : 506
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Everyday, every single day has been the same. Since the accident, since my heart broke. It may as well have been me – it's almost as though it was me who had died. I don't feel anymore, I don't believe I can feel. I just purely exist. I'm a shadow, a shadow of deep loss and regret. A shadow of broken words and empty promises. A ghost.
Is it wrong, to have visions of your dead boyfriend? To hear his voice in your mind, to somehow find him there - corporal and full if life? Because that's what it's like for me. I talk to Phil every day - I swear he talks back. My lost lover. He still cares for me, still loves and cherishes me. I can tell.
A year it's been, a year today. The day my beating heart was torn clean from my chest. We'd been walking, just walking, hand in hand. The entire world was perfectly quiet yet disastrously loud. We were 'us'. Phil and Dan. Dan and Phil. He was gorgeous and I was awkward. He was full of life and I was raindrops on the window pane. We were together, catching our moonbeams and singing our foolish love songs. But he was snatched from me, far far away. A plume of smoke, twisted metal and the deafening, murderous squeal of burning rubber. And my world imploded.
When a colossal, brilliant star dies, it collapses inward, its gravity dense and deadening. It becomes a black, never ending, hole. Its one purpose becomes the slow, degrading sapping of every last trace of its surroundings. No light can escape. That's what happened to me - my sun never reached a supernova, and I became a hollow shell. Sentenced to smile but never be happy, to learn but never understand and age but never live.
It's as if I have a monster, a vast, venomous monster, gobbling away at my insides, destroying my organs. The monster eats yet is never truly full - its sole factor to feed off my misery and leach to this hopelessness. I am that monster. A month or two afterwards, that's when the depression started. Huge, heavy blankets of clueless guessing and blind panic. That's when I came to terms with how alone, how terribly alone I was. I needed Phil, so I created and awful copy of him. I couldn't bring him back, so I tried to relive our memories - I got stuck in that past. The world suddenly became my church bell, and each second, my countdown.
I can't do this anymore; I can't keep treading water in this bottomless sea of destruction. It's all just fine. It's all in my head. But it's everywhere around me - in the faces of the latest murder victims, in the emaciated corpses of third world babies and in these sad, sad songs. I'm just a ballad and God is the singer, warbling out my final notes. I'm too far gone - too long dead. I'm swallowing razorblades and they're slicing open my heart.
Please forgive me.
Dan.
