Always.

A little note~ Not written from personal experience, just inspired by a poem read in English.

Together, that's what you said.
Always together.
You lied.

It wasn't really your fault, but I might never truly forgive you.
Because you left me. Alone.
And, now, I'm stood by your grave, watching the well wishers fade into the distance. Your mother stands with mine, tears staining their cheeks, hankies pressed against their eyes. I'm the only one who dares to sit by the headstone. Everyone else hovers around, not wanting to look at it, to see it, to acknowledge your death. They think, that as long as they can't see proof, it hasn't happened. To them, ignorance is bliss.
Your mother is sobbing now, as is mine. People come to comfort them, but it's just a haze to me. All I can see is you.
Your smile, your hair, your eyes, your nose. You. Your image is burned into the back of my eyes, etched into my retinas, imprinted in my thoughts. With me, always.

I read the note you left. Smudged by your last tears, written in a hasty fashion. But perfect. You told me that you loved me, that you always would. You didn't say why you did it, why life was too much. I loved you with all my heart and then you left me, so suddenly. Without even saying why.

My mother is asking me to leave now. I refuse. One more moment with you. That's all I need.
I touch the headstone, the granite cold under my fingertips. You always hated the cold. Said it was like death, it's thin tendrils snaking their way around your heart.
I light a candle, placing it in the soil. It illuminates the writing etched in the granite, shadows dancing across the graveyard. I didn't want to write the usual stuff on it, but your mother insisted. She wouldn't let me put our poem on it. I knew you would have wanted it, but she wouldn't listen. She never does.

Thinking about it, I could have been better. I could have said yes straight away. Maybe, that's why you did it. Because you thought I didn't love you.
I do. I really, really do. I hesitated because of pure shock, not of resentment. In fact, if I could change one thing, I would go back and take the ring from your outstretched palm, and slip it on my finger again. Just to re-feel that joy. That unbelievable realisation that you loved me, and that I loved you.
You see, I still do. I always will.
Your mother is calling me now, and I have to leave. I don't want to, but I do. And for the first time since you died, I let go. Let go of all the resentment all the anger, all the fear. I let these feelings go, let the tears wash them away, a never ending tidal wave. And for the first time since you died, I feel hope. Maybe, somehow, I can get through this.
I will get through this.

For you.
Always.