Dear Dawson

Dear Dawson- 43

  He was at her funeral, and he tried not to cry.

It was so hard.

He saw Dawson from across the room. He was a sobbing mess. Connor was too, but he wasn't so vocal about it. Silent tears streamed down his face as he looked at her. She was pale with a sad look seemingly imprinted on her face. He couldn't take it. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he was sorry. He wanted to hold her one last time, but it was too late for any of that now.

She was dead, and he had to come to terms with that no matter how bad it hurt.

He regretted his decisions that he made with her- the hurtful ones, more specifically, especially leaving her.

He felt like it was his fault, and maybe it was. There was no way to go back now.

He regretted everything- every fight, every hurtful word, every time he took it too far, every time he didn't ask her if she was alright. He regretted it all.

He felt as if he could have helped her, and maybe that is true. He isn't at fault, though, death was her wish.

He thought that maybe she was happy. Maybe she was dancing beautifully in a white gown, surrounded by a field of wonderful sights.

And that's what helped him sleep at night.

But, every so often, his other thoughts would creep in.

Maybe she's just as miserable as before -possibly even worse- and maybe she blamed him too. Maybe he will never get over her. Maybe he will live the rest of his life, feeling like he owes his life to a girl he couldn't love.

He couldn't love her.

She was poison.

Her poison was far too sweet.

And, even though his stomach cramped at the consumption, he still wanted more.

Sometimes, poison is sweet, but in the end, it always hurts.

She was poison much too sweet for him.

So, his head aches and his body cried for a release, but he loved her. He loved her so much even though she was so bad for him.

How can something as beautiful as love hurt so much?

Maybe he never should have loved. Maybe that's a curse. Maybe he is afraid.