She approached him slowly, watching his confident form stiffen at the sound of her footsteps, and suddenly, he was turning around and facing her. He breathed her name in a sigh of relief, chaning the sound as he rubbed his face with his hands.
"Hi."
She whispered, just as she had the first time they were at the same funeral; his mom's. He looked at her with the same imploring expression, confusion following it. There was not a single tear stain on her cheeks, her eyes seemed completely dry and the only evidence of her pain was her obvious sadness. He didn't understand. She was always soft, always gentle and loving of every person. How could she not be sad enough to cry over the loss of life? His eyes burned into her presence, making her very being shake at its core as the wind blew her deep brown locks behind her. She shivered, though not out of cold nor discomfort. She didn't really understand why she shivered, it was an involuntary action, but she knew the reason ran deep. It was like her blood ran cold, the shiver caused by something within rather than the wind that flitted over her skin, raising goosebumps. But nonetheless, she still found his jacket covering her shoulders, encasing her in a peppermint and woodpine scented warmth.
"You're cold."
It was both a statement and an observation, though she felt accusation carrying the words towards her. But she cared for only the thought of how obvious it may seem and how wrong it was. She doesn't reply verbally, choosing to ignore the comment as he awkwardly puts his hands in his pockets, squinting as he looks around as if searching for something but then he stops, his gaze seeming to instantly fall onto her. His eyes are clouded; misty and she can barely stand to look at them long enough to guess his feelings but even then, she can't.
"Why aren't you sad?"
The words are so soft she almost doesn't hear them.
Almost.
But they come pounding into her head, violently repeating themselves. Why isn't she sad? It's a simple question, one that shouldn't bother her, and it wouldn't. If she were anywhere else, anywhere other than a funeral. But it's not just that, how he says it bothers her. He says it like it's a sin, like it's an awful thing not to feel sad and she wants to scream. To yell and scream and cry. But she doesn't, because that's hard. It's hard. Letting people see you sad is hard, funerals are hard, this day is hard. And she just...wants something to be easy. Something to be simple. So to his simple question, she gives her simplest answer.
"I am."
She can tell what he's about to say, or what she thinks he's going to say and has an immediate answer for it, but he doesn't say that. He simply shakes his head, the firm 'no, you're not' left silent before he laughs. He laughs. He laughs at a funeral. Sure, it's bitter and miserable and broken, but he laughs and she's surprised, concerned even. Not even bitter laughs have escaped him at funerals before and she wonders for a moment, a brief moment, if he's finally lost it after being surrounded by death. She's tempted to ask and she nearly does, knowing he'd question what exactly it was that he'd lost when he speaks.
"Then why aren't you crying?"
She looks at him incredulously. He's not crying either, she wants to point out, she wants to tell him a thing or two about hypocrisy too. Namely that he's being a hypocrite and she hates them, but she doesn't. She doesn't speak, she just stands there. Staring at him. Does she really need to cry to be sad? She wants to ask him that too, get him to tell her why crying means she's sad. People cry from happiness too, from joy, from shock, from fear, why does it mean she'd be sad? That crying would prove she's sad? She can feel pain and sadness without putting it on display can't she? Crying is not how she can define her sadness, it won't mean she's sad just as not crying won't mean she's not sad. She wants to point all of this out, make him see his assumptions and thoughts don't count for squat, that just because she doesn't cry doesn't mean she doesn't feel. She wants to do so much...but it's hard.
It's all too hard and she's lost, so very, very lost and she just wants something simple. Something easy. She wants something to reassure her, she wants something to speak for her, she wants something to help her because she can't help herself. Because helping herself is harder than helping everyone else. Because everyone didn't lose her, and if they did then not to the severity that was what she felt. They didn't lose her, most definitely not. But she did. Rain starts to fall heavily outside, pummeling the pavement and soaking the earth. It's easy, she thinks, looking at him again. Her reply is simple.
"I am."