The rose and the sunflower.
The girl with the golden eyes and the boy with a golden heart.
The girl that believed love was just a fairytale and the boy that believed fairytales are just stories waiting to come true.
'I used to think love was a point...
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tw: panic attack
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I hate funerals - not that anyone sane would enjoy a funeral. My dad's funeral is about to be over but I can't stand here and watch his casket get lowered down. When everyone took their turns going around and throwing a flower on top, I rushed away.
Nothing about this feels real. So many people are here. So many. My father was well known amongst the islands across the region, well respected. It was almost astonishing when I stood at the front of the church, alongside Quinn, earlier whilst reading the eulogy. I didn't see a single empty pew.
Speaking of the eulogy, I delivered the majority of it because Quinn has been a wreck. I've managed to convince myself that there is something wrong with me because I haven't cried, not yet. I almost feel worse about not crying at my dad's funeral than I do about his actual death.
Harry and Emma came back with me to Barbados for the funeral. Harry insisted that I was always there for him when he was hurting during the band, that even though it's not the same kind of hurt he's going to be here for me. And Emma, well she and I are practically joint at the hip. We go wherever the other goes and she knows I'd do this for her. Liam wanted to come as well, to support me and because he knew my dad for all those years, but unfortunately he couldn't book a flight in time.
Regardless, I'm grateful Harry did come with me because I've been squeezing his hand the whole time. I'm pretty sure I might be hurting him but he doesn't indicate it.
"That's my grand mère, my dad's mother." I stand with Harry, distanced from the rest of the crowd.
"She's the one that lives in France?" he asks and I nod my head in response, too busy observing how heartbroken she looks as she cries into my uncle's shoulder that I can't make a verbal response.
"She's crying so much." I realise I say my thoughts out loud and then I add, "Why am I not crying? What the fuck is wrong with me?"
A wave of awareness hits me and reminds me I'm standing in a churchyard so I probably should not curse or I'll end up in hell... or whatever.
"Hails, nothing is wrong with you." Harry burns his eyes onto the side of my face until I'm compelled to look at him. "Everyone copes in their own ways. You don't have to cry if that's not how you cope."
I squeeze his hand a bit harder, if that's even possible. After another moment spent debating in my head, I decide that I no longer want to watch people mourning and I turn around. My sister was buried a few spots down from where my dad is currently being buried. Our whole family has their own designated plots of land. Mine is next to my sister. I feel the need to point that out to myself, remind myself where I'll be once I'm gone, though it's kind of grim.
I lead both Harry and I over to my sister's grave because it's been a while since I've been here. I wish I had flowers with me but hopefully my presence is enough for her. Plus, I have something I'd like to tell her and in my opinion it's better than flowers.
