He was found 2 days later when he didn't show up for work.
I'm not really sure I remember how it all ended or even who found him – it might have been me – I might have volunteered to go see if he was home. I had yet to talk to him about that night. But I do know that if I stopped and began focusing on his sweet smell, always watermelons, and the texture of his skin, how he got wrinkles when he worried and his hair sticking up in all directions and how it felt when he held me and comforted me that night – when I made my first and biggest mistake, in thinking he would switch black for brown, from passion fruit and green apples to orchids and strawberries.
I remember how I was missing waking up next to him and seeing that sandy blonde hair messed up and his face relaxed and smooth – he was always so peaceful and looked so young.
While she stood there trying to remember and trying to repress the urge to step outside her body and just walk over to him and smooth out the wrinkles he had gained when he had been slipped away. While she stood numb and unsure paramedics started swarming around them like bees around sweet smelling sugary fruit on a hot summer day.
I think I was asked something – I'm still not sure. Maybe. Just maybe I even answered. The last thing I do remember though was darkness. Complete darkness. Black as the night sky and aromatic coffee I drink every morning. I think I might have dreamt it but it sounded like he was screaming my name over and over when I slipped under the darkness. Repeating Sydney Sydney Sydney Sydney over and over. I let myself disappear in the comfort that is the darkness and his calm sweet voice.
Couple of days later at the funeral
I felt like walking in a haze this was the 2nd time in a month I had to bury someone I loved so much – almost too much. I think my name was called when I first arrived at the graveyard, for the outdoor ceremony. I just stood – watching how everybody walked around talking to each other. How could they just act like they aren't at funeral for one of their oldest friends even if he hadn't been a good friend lately, wasn't really mentally there most of the time or very welcoming.
I still remember, I think and hope it was not just another dream, him that night he was warm and comforted me. Like he had done so many times before. One thing I still remember is how he was excited about a girl even if he refused to tell anything about her. He was just constantly glowing and had that special sparkle, she had never seen it before – only once heard about it from Weiss and even he couldn't tell much or I just couldn't remember much then and I remember even less now.
Now standing here at his grave weeping for a man I don't know who is anymore. Even if not sure anymore I ever knew him. But for some odd reason I just keep standing here and I start to feel numbness spreading throughout my mind and feet, while I got a peculiar feel on my right index- and middle finger it's almost like warm thick summer rain but it couldn't be cause it's February and it's supposed to be harsh and unforgiving.
"Sydney did you want to say something?"
I suddenly hear. When I hear my name I jump like I've been burned – someone called out my name and now I'm afraid to meet anybody's judging stares. So I continue to look at the paper I have in my hand it got that very distinct red colour smeared that's also marring my index- and middle finger and wrists. I think I know the colour. I try to open my mouth to speak I still feel like I'm silent I don't know but I don't think I'm actually saying any of the words I got on my paper. I feel like I'm just staring at the paper and then turning it. I don't really know if there's anything on or I just imagined I turned it. I think I just stood there and stared at a maybe blank paper – I think there was something on at least I'm not really sure. I never am anymore.
I slowly gathered courage to take my eyes off the paper and when I didn't think anybody was looking or noticed me taking the eyes off the paper until I saw her.