I know what I'm writing isn't even that good, but I need a lot of lockner in my life right now to ease the grief so I just had to write it myself. Hope some people out there enjoy it. This one is wills point of view from beyond lets say.
I loved her.
No I worshipped her. As if she was a queen.
Sometimes I got too far above my station; I thought I was her equal.
I wasn't. She was beautiful, intelligent, and graceful. A goddess.
I remember kissing her neck and thinking that listening to her breath hitch was one of the most powerful and exciting sounds I had ever heard.
In those first years, I craved her acceptance, and her praise. In whichever form that was.
I was little boy lost in a man's body.
At first she give me nods, smirks, and shoulder pats.
Once we grew to become proper friends, I knew that she was not merely a goddess to look open and marvel, but a real woman.
One night, as we sat in the board room, long after everyone in the office had left, we chatted. I made a joke, she tilted head slightly, lifted her eyes upwards towards me and let out a glorious laugh. I knew then I wanted her.
I wanted her to accept me in every way.
Evenings like those continued for a long time, there were dinners, lunches, drinks at the bar, even drives into the countryside. And then suddenly one evening, she finally allowed me past that final wall between us.
She allowed me to caress her skin, hold her close, and breath in her scent. I remember thinking it wasn't how I imagined it would be.
I thought I'd be nervous, afraid to fail her, to not be good enough. But she wasn't powerful, or overbearing.
I always seen myself as little boy lost, and Diane was the one, shielding me from storms, helping me, showing me. But that night I realized, she was little girl lost.
As we lay in bed that night, her head rested on my shoulder. I realized that we were in this together. She would always be there for me, and I would always be there for her.
I watch her now, as she sits at her desk, her hands trembling, as she cries over my death.
I wish I could tell her it will be ok, and that I'm still here, within these walls forever more. But she will know.
She'll remember that first night we spent together, she'll remember waking the next morning and noticing I wasn't there. She'll remember clutching my shirt around her body, walking to the kitchen and finding me making two cups of coffee.
And just like then, she'll know that one day we'll meet again, and that I'll be waiting for her.