A/N So this is a little out of Character for Ryan, but so was most of season four. I wrote this poem earlier, and thought that it would make a good OC type poem.
He was tired of his life. He was tired of waking up and missing her, and going to sleep and hearing her cries. He was tired of being haunted by the thoughts that he'd failed her. He was tired of thinking that she didn't know how he felt. He was tired of Taylor following him. He was tired of Seth's problems with Summer. He was tired of the Cohens telling him things were going to be okay.
He was tired.
He didn't know when or how he got here, but here he was. He sat down at his desk and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. In a rush of thoughts, he started writing and didn't stop until he was satisfied. He held his final product in his hands and read it over.
And for the first time since she died, he smiled.
Where are you now?
Can you see me at night?
When the tears fall down my face?
When I wake up with a fright?
Where are you now?
Can you laugh and have fun?
Can you come and visit me?
Can you see anyone?
Where are you now?
Do you ever get scared?
Do you ever wonder what could've happened?
Do you know that I cared?
Where are you now?
Do you ever want to just cry?
Do you ever see me get angry?
Do you know that sometimes I want to die?
Where are you now?
Do you ever wish you were here?
Do you ever miss your life?
Do you ever wish things were clear?
Where are you now?
Does it hurt to be gone?
Do you feel any pain?
Do you ever feel like now you've won?
Where are you now?
Because I really want to know
You left me too soon
You never had a chance to grow
Where are you now?
Because I want you back
I miss your smile and laugh
miss you helping me when I would crack.
Where are you now?
Because I want to see you again
You were my everything
My very best friend
Where are you now?
So maybe I can come see you
So I can finally stop crying
So I can stop feeling blue
He never showed anyone his poem. No one knew that he could write something like that. And when he wrote Taylor a poem, everyone was surprised that he could do it. They were pleased with his short poem, and felt that it was the best that he could do. But it wasn't, this was.
But that was his own little secret.