A small part of me wants to pull your hair away from your skin, ripping it out. However, there's the more significant part of me; the part that wants to take your hands and place them in mine gently. Take your pain and wipe it away. I wish I could drown you out of my life, make you nothing but a mere memory. But when I try, I'm thrown back into the past, sitting cross-legged on the floor, cradling a plastic doll. A time when I'd look around at my peers, confused about the task set. When the biggest issue I had was why my lines weren't even, or my fingers getting stuck in the scissors handles.
I remember that I'm in over my head.
I remember that it is over.
I remember that you're gone.
I remember that there is no pain. I remember that you are just a memory.
I get up from the cold grass and put the bouquet I bought for you on your patch of dirt.
I breathe in silently, glassy eyes about to flood the cheeks that you once held so endearingly.
My eyes prick as the tears fall delicately. The same eyes that you looked in, full of fear as I brought the gun closer to your head.
I remember that it was my fault.
And then I laugh.
