He sunk into the chair trying not to let the hot tears leave his face. He felt his tie suffocating him and his shoes squeezing his feet and his teeth grinding against each other in order not to let out his pleading yells. His hair blew in the breeze and he didn't move and he didn't listen. He looked down at his hands and thought of her and how he never told her before she…left.
The funeral ended and the rest of the people left but he, one of the few who really knew her, stood there. The young man stared at the coffin in which she laid. Her and her red, now purple and distorted, lips. Her and her brown eyes and olive skin and long dark brown hair. How he need her. How he missed her. Now he let the tear stream down carelessly. He didn't know it would ever end this way. He had pictured her in his life forever.
He stood up after a half an hour or so when the men raised the coffin into the grave. He felt a sense of panic crawl up his spine and he opened his mouth for the first time since the accident.
"Stop!" he cried and ran to the confused men. They stopped and turned around. "No! She isn't dead; you can't burry her!" he yelled and touched the chestnut coffin attempting to open it.
"Someone help him," said her brother with a slight watery tear in his eye. Her brother had always protected her and knew the other boy. It hurt him so deeply.
"I love you," the young man whispered to the coffin as someone took his arm. He didn't protest but tried to pull back and try to picture her face once more. And then it happened. It was strange and unexpected and how he longed for it.
"I love you, too," came her voice. Whether it was in his mind or coming from the coffin he did not know. But those four words stopped his tears and allowed him to be pulled into the car and driven off through the lonely gray streets. He felt abandoned and destroyed. And weak. There was nobody like her and nobody that could even resemble her.