It was eight years ago we met. And it was five years ago when I last saw those emeralds that were his eyes, sparkle with life. How ironic that on the date that we first met, we saw each other last. Our love was usually discouraged, some may have even called it forbidden, but we called it beautiful, and anyone who thought differently could be damned. However, it was not to be.
Oh no, don't get me wrong, we were soul mates. But...one bad move on a slippery road, and it was all gone- shattered, mere, jagged pieces surrounding my feet.
Oh, I shall never forget the first time we laid eyes on each other. It was the happiest day of my life. But now-now I'm not sure if I should have ever met him. If we'd never met, he'd still be in this world. Granted, we wouldn't know each other, but he'd be alive, and now that's all that would matter.
But because I did meet him, I became the happiest person alive. But since he left- ...no, he didn't leave. He was stolen right from under my nose. Or- was it different? Did I just- just hand him over to the brutal claws of death? After all, I was responsible. If I had only seen the red light, then the semi wouldn't have hit us- wouldn't have crushed him- wouldn't have killed him. If only I had been paying better attention, I wouldn't have had to watch in horror as my young lover was splattered in blood as his bones shattered. If only I had- but I hadn't.
Now, every day, I just lay in his bed, (it still has his scent) crying in grief, guilt, and loss. I haven't written a book for years now. There's just no inspiration.
You've no idea how many times I've thought about just ending it all. But I never
do it. Because he wouldn't want it. He'd want me to keep on going. So I do. I suffer for him. I'll do anything for him. He was-and still is-my everything.
Now, here I sit, in a field of Baby Romantica that I planted myself. They remind me of him. Especially- especially when they wilt away and die when the cold comes. The only difference is that they can come back. They always come back. He can't. Misaki can never come back.
Some say it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. That's a lie. If we'd never loved, he would not only still be here, but I wouldn't be the pathetic creature I am today. I would still be writing, I would be doing everything I used to love. And I-I would be happy...No. No! Don't act like it's his fault! It was worth it! Misaki and only Misaki can make me happy. And it's my own goddamn fucking fault he's gone. Without him I would be- or rather I am-.
...Nothing...
