I'm paying attention to her, now, because maybe I didn't pay enough attention before. Maybe she didn't feel my love, I hope she did. She's the only reason I'm here. She's moving towards the door now. Her footsteps are light on the cold wooden floor, something years of sneaking out teaches a nineteen-year-old.
Tears are rolling down their faces, they probably never thought they'd all be gathered here, not today and not for me. They are all too caught up in their own grief to notice her slip away. They cling onto each other, nails sinking into each other's skin, stopping themselves from falling apart in front of each other.
She's wrapping the shall I knitted for her tightly around her shoulders, it's old so it has holes in it. I follow behind her quietly and watch her stop in front of an old tree, our old tree. She's falling apart, right here in front of me, in front of our tree.
She slowly kneels down in front of the tree, clutching her stomach, sobs rattling her bones a look of pure fear and disbelief etched on her face.
I wonder if she remembers the day we planted this tree, almost ten years ago, because I do. I remember the way we promised each other that we'd never be apart. How we borrowed an old shovel from her shed and snuck out here in the dead of night to plant it. People thought the old church had met its match with some ruffians when they saw the upchucked earth, but we knew better.
I wonder if she can hear the wind crying out her name in the cold Autumn breeze, I hope she can. She's gasping for air, snot running down her face, yet she doesn't make a move to wipe it.
My poor baby, so sad.
Does she know I'm right here?
I hope she knows why I did what I did, why she has to do it too. I don't want her to feel this, this sadness. I don't want her to feel any of this.
All I want is for her to be free, with me. Can she sense my presence?
I read a book one time when I was younger about this girl whose best friend died and she could see her ghost. The author made it seem like being haunted was a bad experience, but it's not like that, not for me anyway. I love the way it feels, getting to see her right here in front of me. How I'm the only one that can see her like this, how I'm the only one who really sees her.
Sometimes I wish she could see me, so I could tell her what to do. She might not know that the pharmacy across from Tesco doesn't ask any questions to young girls who come in every day to get a new refill of there medicine. She won't know that its best not to leave any notes behind. I've seen what my notes have done. I want her to hear me telling her this, for her to realise what she has to do.I'm screaming for her to look up, to see me standing right here in front of her. Why can't she hear me, my voice is hoarse but she doesn't notice me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Thank you to all the people who have been leaving comments, I love reading them and replying to them.
This part was written not too long ago. I want to develop this plot a lot more in the future so please do give me feedback because I want to know how to make it better.
also, you can find me on my photography Instagram @novice_caution.
thank you bye.
