The list of sinners

...Donovan...

A part of me still thinks that if I could find the right words, the day when you found the courage to express your feelings, we both would have been saved. You would still be here. I built a wall around me, a protective wall for this feeling. I tried to set boundaries between us, pushed you away, even. But you managed to break through the flaws of this wall, Selia. You conquered my whole being. I was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid if you would leave too or not. Fear kept me hostage, filling me with doubts and insecurities. This fear paralyzed me, at a time when it was the moment of the heart to speak.

But perhaps, this is what we could have been: an unfinished sentence, a half-story. I want you to know how difficult it is, how painful, but I think it's better this way. It would be shameful to know how I cry every night, how many times I bury my head in the pillow. It would be shameful to know how I twist the sheets out of nervousness, because it seems like the bed still holds your scent. You didn't even say goodbye, and a part of me still believes you'll come back.

Sometimes it seems I see you in the street or think I see you. They look like you. Oh, if only you could see. If I had the courage you had, maybe... maybe I could have prevented everything. Maybe we could have experienced more things. We could have tried many things. But now you're just my paradox: you're the love letter I can't read anymore, yet at the same time, I refuse to throw it away.

The scent of jasmine and roses circulates in the air mixed with the silent sighs of mourners. Your funeral has drawn a small crowd, but for me, it feels like the world has stopped and no one is around. I found a corner in the last row and sat down, my eyes fixed on your coffin, open with you lying there in the center, stretched out and covered in flowers. You lie there peacefully, with a faint smile, on a soft satin pillow. The white dress that covers your fragile physique looks very beautiful on you. There's lace on the sleeves and neckline, adding more innocence and purity that characterized you.

It's surreal how you appear there, as if you're just sleeping. But deep down, I know you're gone forever, and this is a fact that I don't know how long it will take me to internalize. The coffin looks like a cradle, protecting you from the harsh realities of the world even in death. A ray of light shines through the stained glass mosaic, transforming into a small rainbow that accompanies you like a choir of angels above your head. I've fixed my eyes on you, Celia, can you feel it? And the more I focus on you, my mind plays tricks on me, and it seems like your lips are moving.

The morning air is heavy with a overwhelming sense of loss, while the people present try to come to terms with your premature death, which is tragically interrupted. I can't stand up straight. My shoulders are slumped. I'm in the last row, under the company of the shawl you made for me. I've wrapped it around my hand three times and keep inhaling your scent. It smells just like you.

As I listened to the speeches and praises of your loved ones, I couldn't help but shed tears. I feel a profound loss not only for the person you were but also for the person you could have become, Celia. I couldn't help but cry at the recount of your friend, who showed how she would surprise you by coming that afternoon, on your birthday. That's where I learned it was your birthday. Your father told how much he struggled to come to your funeral, but he showed up. Just to see you, he looks older than your grandfather. At first, your wife died, he said. He buried her with his own hands. He didn't think he would bury his daughter so soon. Death is always sudden, even when it's not, isn't it?

After those who had the strength to speak finished, they placed the lid of the coffin over your body amid prayers and sobs. Seeing the lid being spread over you, I feel my heart swaying from irregular beats. What now? How will it be now that you're being hidden from my sight? This final act hits me hard. They're closing you permanently in that wooden box that will be your eternal bed. A person has two lives in this life. One has lived it, the other is waiting to be lived. But for me, life has snatched away a future I had dreamed of for years.

"I love you, Celia," I say softly. "Wait for me in the other world."

Your family members now form the cortège. Contradictory is it or not, how heavy you look now being carried on their shoulders. I don't have the strength to stand up and follow you. I don't have the strength to throw a handful and over you. I decide to stay within the sanctified walls, leaving the tears of sorrow to fall on your shawl. The silence that has been created pierces the deafening screams within my soul. Your face floats before me, teasing me with its fleeting nature. I cry when I think of you.

"Donovan, won't you follow her funeral?" Cameron asks me.

I try to gather myself before him. I stand up holding onto the backs of the wooden chairs. I raise my eyes to reach his face, but the light behind him seems too strong for my weak eyes.

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask.

"Of course, tell me."

"Can you go to her funeral for me," I say. "Please!"

"I... I will, it's okay," he says after a long pause. I will go, I will go and pay her respects for both of us. But promise me this, my friend, that... that one day you will find the strength to face this loss."

"Just... tell her how much I love her," I say with eyes beginning to well up. "Tell her also how... how foolish I was... how cowardly I was. Tell her that I-I'm very sorry. Very sorry."

"I will... I will do it," he says with a trembling voice.

I lightly tap his shoulder and cross the threshold of the church. It feels like for a moment there's not enough air in my lungs. I grip the railing tightly and my fingers feel like they've become one with it. You were almost mine and I will continue to be stuck in this word. Your leaving behind, buried under the icy embrace of the earth, feels like an unbearable duty. Everything has come crashing down on me. I am sick from the pitiless waltz of life and death, a miserable dance that spins me in dizzying pirouettes. I hate how love is a great deceiver. I hate how it seeks our trust, only to betray us in the end. Love has become a cruel dictator, ruling over my life with an iron fist. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much love we had, it seems like some stories don't have a happy ending. I don't want to love anymore, not today, not tomorrow, never again. But at the end of the day, I deserved a better goodbye from you.