She's Dead.
That's the truth. I watched them close the casket over her body. I watched them lower her into the ground. I saw her named carved into the gray rock. I was the one who laid the rock over her final resting place. I know she's never coming back.
But she isn't gone. When I look out the kitchen window, I see her lounging under the tree we planted when we moved in. When I enter my study I hear her soft 'tut' at the dust on my shelves. When I crawl into bed at night, I feel her breath on my neck and her whispered reminders for the morning. When my friends or family make a joke, I hear her laugh louder than anyone else's. When I reach for my bottle of firewhiskey, I hear her disapproving sniff. I see the glare of her eyes reflected in the liquid, and my firewhiskey remands unopened. I feel her arms around my neck and her lips pressed firmly on my cheek when I have good news. I hear her murmuring words of comfort, and her hugging me tight when I have bad news. I don't care what the others say or what the truth is.
She's Alive.
A/N: If you review, (Which I hope you do) tell me who you think this is about...I'd really like to know what others get from this...
Bekah
PS: I own nothing . . .