Prolog
On Sunday, January eighteenth, Kurt E. Hummel died. Maybe he was killed. I don't remember who killed him. I don't want to remember, but for the sake of remembering Kurt I feel like I have to. I want to remember every moment I had with him up until I watched the weak smile fade from his face, with my tears and his mixing in with the blood on his cheeks.
I hated imagining that. His beautiful face scarred and stained with blood. His funeral was today. I didn't know if I could go. I didn't know if I wanted to go. I didn't want to see him with his eyes closed like that, because I knew that however much I told myself, 'He's only sleeping,' I knew it would never matter. He wasn't sleeping. I wanted to go, though, because I needed to see his face one more time. But there would be little stitches. His death hadn't had been a pretty one, but he had gone in grace, with as much grace as with everything else that that he did. I would never see his eyes again, never see him smile again, never hear him laugh or sing, and never feel his warmth in my arms late at night with the gentle patter of the rain. But it was decided, I needed to go.
I got out of bed, miserable, and walked downstairs, completely miserable. Made a cup of coffee. Miserable. Took a shower. Miserable. Got dressed. Miserable. Nice shirt. Nice pants. Nice jacket. Nice tie. Miserable. I walked downstairs again, dropped my mug into the sink, and put on some shoes. Miserable. I walked out of the living room and down to my car, got in the car, turned the keys into the ignition, and drove to the funeral home. Miserable, miserable, miserable.
Parking in one of the only remaining spots in the parking lot, I sighed again. I didn't want to cry here, not in public. But I trudged in, and shuffled to the back. I stared at the ground as Rachel and Finn came over, Rachel trying to comfort me as I couldn't tear my eyes away from Finn's. The look he was giving me was terrifying. I glanced at Rachel, giving her a solid, 'I'd like to be alone right now,' look, and shuffled away from everyone, trying to remain out of sight of at least Finn. I could feel that god-awful look, though. I walked a bit toward the casket, still not sure if I could bear to see Kurt like this. But I had to, I had to give him one last good bye. I had to hold his hand one more time. I had to for Kurt. Or maybe just for myself.
The casket was silver, with white trim, and had this soft white lining in it that looked a bit like silk. As I moved closer, my heart stopped, as it did every time I saw Kurt, but this time, the feeling was strange. I pushed aside my thoughts that came at me all at once, and just tried to take in all of his features at once. His head was propped up on a little pillow that was made of the same material as the inside of the casket. He had that Alexander McQueen suit that he had found on sale back in August on, and he looked beautiful. His skin was soft and pale, just like it always had been, but he looked more like a fragile porcelain doll than ever. On his finger was a promise ring, made out of Wrigley's gum wrappers. I had given it to him after only a month of dating him, on June tenth. All of our friends thought I was crazy. But I love him (present tense, love) and I know he was the one. There will never be any replacement for Kurt Hummel. I grabbed his hand and whispered to him, softly, "Kurt, I love you. Did you hear that? Love. Present tense, and I will always love you. I love you more with every passing day and soon I'm going to be with you again, because my heart just won't be able to handle it. I love you the most I ever have right this very moment, because I love you more each second than the last. I don't want to miss you, Kurt, I don't want to have to miss you. I want you to be right here next to me again and I want to be at the park with you having a picnic. I want to sing love songs to you again and oh, god, I want to hear your voice again. I need to hear your voice again." At this point I pretty much fell into hysterical sobbing, kissed Kurt's forehead, and stepped down.
And then I cried through the whole service. And then I cried as a gently tossed a handful of dirt onto Kurt's silver casket. And then I cried driving home. And then I cried when I got home, and then I cried as I got undressed and into pajamas, and then I cried as I tried to remember the past few months, without the horribly ending bit that I had just experienced the aftermath of.