Shawn Mendes Imagines

Eulogy

ur welcome for this btw. if you're not crying by the end im deactivating as heck

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Shawn's POV

I was surrounded by people that I barely knew. There were some familiar faces-- Y/N's family that I'd met, a few people from my own family I was avoiding, a lot of her friends were here as well-- but I couldn't stand looking at any of them.

They all wanted to talk to me. They all wanted to sit down at one of the tables and meet me, ask me how I knew her, talk about her life.

But all I wanted to do was leave. I was supposed to be saying goodbye, and goodbye is something that takes an enormous amount of time to be said.

She's been gone for two days and they're already sealing the deal right in front of my face, mocking me. I couldn't even handle looking at the faces of everyone who just accepted it and didn't have any problem whatsoever.

They'd all already said their goodbyes to her. Mine could never truly be finished.

Right in the middle of the church, before the service even began, people were gathered around, speaking to one another. Some conversations were about her, others were about the game last night or the new shoe store that just opened a few streets away.

I stood in the middle, pretending to listen to something that her best friend was telling me, but I'd honestly drifted off about three minutes ago. I felt completely weightless. Empty. Like everything that was being said or done was in one ear and out the other.

Y/N's life deserved to be celebrated so much more than this. The funeral hadn't even begun yet and I already wanted to walk out the door, never see these people again. They didn't care about her like I did.

Right as I was about to do just that, the soft music playing in the background stopped, and a voice asked everyone to please find their seats.

I nervously walked to the front of the room, sitting in the section for friends, even though she felt more like family to me.

People stared at me with pity. Sitting with my legs stretched out in the front row, it was hard not to notice me there, not to notice the grieving boyfriend of the dead girl of the hour.

The casket was open at her family's request, even though I didn't exactly pull out a defense. It would make it easier if I didn't have to see her body, cold and lifeless, her two shades lighter than usual-- but that wouldn't change the fact that she was dead. I could stare at her and see her body lying there, but I knew she wasn't in there.

If she was up there, down there; out there, somewhere, I assumed that she wasn't really gone. She just wasn't here with me anymore.

Even the simple and brief thought of it made my eyes sting. That if her being was alive, it wasn't here. That there really is no choice for her. And if there is, she doesn't choose me.

Everyone in the church quiets down as they wait for the service to begin, but my mind wouldn't shut up. I was jittery. My hands were shaking and my right leg was bouncing up and down from nerves; and also in attempt to calm myself, to keep the tears back.

I've cried too much over the past two days, I can't handle anymore. And this won't even be it. There would be many times after this, even years and years later when I see a picture of her or something and I'm overwhelmed with the longing of her and what we could have been-- she would fade out and become only a memory, less vivid, less painful. But I would still cry.