I remember you, a smiling, beautiful girl. Who talked to me. I always wondered why.
I remember you, breaking your first board in karate. Doing your first flip in cheerleading. So proud of yourself. I was proud, too.
I remember you, kissing your first boyfriend. 8th grade, right? I stopped talking to you for a couple days. I was too jealous.
I remember you, crying after your worst breakup. You came to me. I did my best.
I remember you, taunting the villains. But I also remember you grabbing my arm during Psycho, because you were afraid.
I remember you, your lips on mine and your arms winding around my neck. My fingers in your hair. Our hearts beating at the same time.
. . .
I see you now, so still and cold.
I see you now, with a single, thin trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth.
I see you now, unable to process anything else.
I see you now, but barely. The tears blur my vision.
I see you now, but I wish I didn't. I wish I could see anything else.
I see you now, and wonder, dully, who did it. Then I look up and see someone else: Shego, laughing and crying, hatred in her eyes. I know.
. . .
I imagine you as I chase her through the streets, leaping over puddles, with greater speed than ever before.
I imagine you as I corner her. She doesn't try to escape, just sinks down against the wall, still hysterical.
I imagine you as I drop to my knees beside her. 'Why?' I ask hopelessly.
I imagine you as she begs me to kill her. It was because of Drakken. Why didn't you tell me you killed him? You were ashamed. Of course.
I imagine you as I beg her to kill me. Because I feel as she feels. It's not worth it anymore.
I imagine you as I hold her, pulling her closer. And she pulls me closer. And I know it's wrong. And I know we need this.
. . .
I still think of you, so often it's not worth trying to measure. But less often than at first.
I still think of you, still remember almost everything. But the small things- your favorite song, for example- are disappearing. I'm scared.
I still think of you, and I know that I will never stop. But now, black and red, green and white, blur together. I'm losing you.
I still think of you, but yesterday, I boxed up all the pictures of us. Shego found me, crouching on the floor, crying, and saved one for me.
I still think of you, but I didn't wear black yesterday. And, for the first time in a while, Shego did again. We're moving on.
I still think of you, but I'm starting to forget. And, though I loved you and always will, it's not a bad thing.
