Just a Dream
The swing squeaked ever so slightly as I moved. It was a calming sort of sound. As if to let me know this all wasn't part of my dream.
This was real. I really was sitting here recalling memories so far back in my head they seemed unreal. They were unreal for a girl like me to have lived such happy times.
There are countless times I have wished that he was still here with me. Sixteen is not the age to die. So much you haven't experienced or seen in your short-lived life.
He told me I was the only girl he loved. That is probably what hurts the most. I knew he was with other girls, but I let it all pass me by. I never questioned him. I thought he would grow out of it; it was just a stage. I don't think he knew I knew abut the others.
Since he had died I had kept myself in a steel cage; protecting myself from the outside world, so nothing could hurt me like he had.
I never thought about my life back when he was alive. It only made me hurt worse. I don't know what made me want to come here toady. After years of forgetting trying to forget my past, here I am living the memories over in my head.
I visited here many times, in the year after he died, and still when he was with me. In my mind this was our place. This is where we used to spend endless, carefree hours of the days. Sometimes we would come with our friends too, but mainly just alone with ourselves.
A tear cascaded down my cheek. I still loved him, but I had promised myself after a year of isolation to move on. Yet, I am here again.
I slowly get up from the swing, the swing that we had shared so many happy memories in together. I look back on that swing now as a distant dream.
Trees are now bending in the slight breeze; their leaves rustling softly. Other things begin to stir around me. It is so peaceful here. Not at all like it was when he died. All I can remember from that night is flashing lights and the sounds of screams from both male and females. His friends were devastated. They had lost two brothers that night.
I should have gone to them for help with my troubles. He was worth more to them then he was to me. They would have helped me, and I would have had a life. But that is not what I wanted. This is the way I chose to run my pitiful life. Now all I have is the memories. I live in the past; like a ghost almost.
You must think I'm crazy. He didn't really love me, he didn't really care all those times he asked me what I was thinking. Why do I waste my life on his memories? It is because I love him. He was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I can't let go of that, not until we're together again.