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"Poor Dear, to lose love so young." They talk about me as if I am not there, as if I cannot hear them, as if each word does not throb like an ache behind my skull. People swirl about, their bodies a sea of black clothes, in constant flux as they mill around the room. I feel like I've been sitting in this chair for hours, watching as each person approaches the casket, all of them with the same sad look on their face. Some approach me, speak to me in hopes of getting a response. But I don't say a word. How can I? What words are there to be said now that he's gone? I feel a hand upon my shoulder, my mothers voice in my ear. "Aurora it's time." I rise to my feet as if in a trance and follow the sea of black as it flows out the doors and into the street. The waves toss me about, fingers and hands reaching out to touch me as I pass, the gleam of pity in their eyes. But I hardly see them. I see nothing but his eyes, his smile, the way his hair gleams when he's in the sun. Months of kisses, touches, warm breath upon naked skin. It all flashes before me as if I am dying, and the casket that walks in front of us all is to be my own.
Rain begins to fall. Around me umbrellas open up as the slow march begins. I am near the front of the group, closest to the casket as it is carried along the sidewalk. Only a handful of feet away a tent waits, chairs lined in rows in front of a waiting hole in the ground. I do my best to keep my eyes away, but my vision is constantly traveling to that casket as it moves forward. Made of oak, shining golden accents, it would be beautiful were it not the final resting place of the only love I have ever known. I feel a drop on my hand, and I look only to see an umbrella covering my head. I touch my cheek in confusion and find wetness there. I am crying. Still? In the three days since Philips passing, I thought that I had cried myself out. I had not shed a single tear the entire day. I am lead to a chair on the first row where my mother sits beside me. The gathering is silent as words are spoken over the grave. I watch, as one by one every member of the gathering rises to place a single rose on the casket. When none are left but my own I rise unsteadily to my feet. My heart sputters, breaking inside my chest as I force my feet to move forward. I stand before the casket, but my fingers refuse to work, gripping the rose as if it is my last hope. I do not know how long I stand there before the casket slowly starts to decent into the ground. As it sinks, those flashes come back again, a tidal wave of memories that I cannot withstand. I fall to my knees before the grave, watching as love slips from my grasp, the rose falling from my grip to land among the others. There is a thud as the casket hits the ground and it is as if my heart sounds its very last beat. There is no stopping the tears as they come, the sobs that shake my body and echo through the silent grave yard. I weep. I weep for the one and only true love of my life. I weep for the future we could have had together. I weep for the world, what a very dark place it will be without his light. Most of all, I weep for myself, for I will be lost without him.