He Left Me Alone

57

When I really thought about it, memories of him were kind of surreal. I wasn't sure if they had happened at all. If those memories were real. But this voice inside my head kept reminding myself that those memories were real. I had thrown the anchor to keep me believing. Because the only way to believe, was believing.

But then again, I was never sure about what I believed in. So as I made my way to that room, sadness was eating the whole existence of happiness in me, I had only one thing in mind : he died. He was gone. It was over.

I was terrified that him being gone meant all of him would, too. He was just a boy who died. Not a boy whom I fell in love with. Not a boy who left memories.

I was terrified that someday in the future, I would forget about him.

I didn't want to forget about him.

Somehow, my feet managed to bring myself toward the big dark wooden coffin across the room. When I looked inside it, I saw him. The same figure I had always known. The same person I had loved the past few years.

His face was as beautiful as ever. It looked the way it would when he was asleep. His face resembled peace. But peace wasn't really something I wanted now.

I wanted to run, break some glasses, and let out my sadness. Or anger. Or whatever this burning feeling was.