He cried because there was nothing he could do. He held her soft, pale hand – fingers locking, embracing for the last time – and kissed her forehead. She was the most beautiful girl. There could be no other. Her brown hair flowed and undulated, her slim figure trembled and moaned. But her eyes were so alive.
“I love you,” she said softly. He knew it was the sickness speaking. Still, he could not stop his heart from breaking.
She leaned up and placed her mouth against his. He felt her lips, dry and cracked. He stared into her face and tried to burrow deep within the skin, wrap himself in it, become lost and forever and infinite, joined together with the one he loved. She moved her head down and caressed his fingers. “You’re so beautiful.”
The sunlight cast a warm glow over them. How ironic. How perfect. How horrible. There had to be something he could hold onto, something real. She was leaving. Why did she have to leave? Why had the world been so cruel to her? He hated them. He hated their lack of forgiveness. How could they not understand? She was never coming back.
He had to hang onto her. He had to let her go. He had to let her go. Life was too beautiful to keep fucking up, she’d say. There was nothing to understand, no damage to erase. It was time.
“Do you think I’ll see Clare?”
I don’t know.
“I hope there isn’t anything after. I hope it’s just black. Nothing.”
Why?
“You’re the only one that understands. I need you.”
If you needed me, you wouldn’t kill yourself.
“You’re the nicest boy I’ve ever known. There’s no one else like you. No one.”
Don’t go.
“This is how it has to be.”
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