She never got to say the words. She felt them, feels them to the very core, to the severed edges of her soul that used to hold a piece of his, until it was violently ripped from her, leaving her bare and bleeding in its wake.
She never got to say the words, and now she never will.
This isn't like last time. There is no peace in speaking to the open air, hoping he will hear. There is no comfort in knowing he is in a better place. There is nothing, because he is nothing; his very existence shattered before her eyes and there was nothing she could do but memorize the last ghostly image of his smile, the featherlight brush of his fingers, as he faded away.
She loves him; loved him. And now she's lost him before she ever really had a chance to.
