Goodbye, my angel (boyxboy)

Tears stung my eyes as I stood near the edge of the open grave-site.

My lover, my best friend, my husband, my angel was buried today.

People offered their condolences, and hugs. I heard nothing, felt nothing. Looking around at the people I knew were there, I couldn't see them.

There was not even a sign that my angel was here. He'd never been here, never touched this place. His body may be in front of me, but he himself was not.

My angel's body laid in the casket, looking inhuman and waxy. This was not the man I remembered. The man I remembered was angelic, all lazy smiles and dimples. In the end, he had thinned and was so sick I barely recognized him anymore. Yet, I did. I recognized him because he was mine. No time, or illness, not even death could take away the connection I felt to him.

When the funeral was over and I finally made it back to our shared home I let the tears flow freely. He was here, in our things, our pictures, the way he smelled, small things, large things, memories. This is where my angel had lived and his presence still lingered.

Removing my jacket I wandered into the bedroom and laid down on the bed. Even though my angel hadn't been here in a while I still felt him everywhere. I felt him lie next to me, and thought I felt a ghost of a brush across my cheek, in an attempt to wipe the tears away.

Thinking back to the day we met I smiled, it felt weird to smile. My face felt too tight. Stephen would want me to smile. Unlike him, I rarely did, but smiling came to him easily.

Never thinking I'd ever find someone to love or even trust again, I was stunned when I set eyes on my angel. Moving away from everyone and everything I'd ever known I settled down and joined an HIV/AIDS support group. My family was hurt that I didn't let them help me, but I didn't want their help, they'd never understand. The one person in my life that I thought I could trust ripped that notion right out of my head, when he knowingly and intentionally gave me HIV. It was his life's mission to make everyone like him. I didn't know and I was torn apart. He never even let me decide for myself. He knew. He fucking knew and did it anyway.

By the time I'd moved there were no people to trust, no friends to tell, I didn't want them. Hell, I didn't need them. They would only turn on me once they found out or worse, leave when I got sicker.

I only went to that support group meeting at my parent's insistence that I talk to someone about it. Not talking about it, not dealing with it seemed better, but I somehow found myself in the meeting anyway.

That's where I met my angel. He walked in with a wide, easy smile, dimples, a wild mane of blond curls, and clear blue eyes that glittered against tan skin. He looked healthy and happy. What the fuck was he doing here then? I might not have been showing signs of being sick, but happy I was not.

My angel's eyes spotted me watching him in stunned awe. He came closer to me and I shook, not knowing what to say or do, afraid I'd fuck it up. I couldn't figure out why it would matter, I didn't plan to give myself to anyone ever again, in any capacity.

As he stepped up to about a foot in front of me, he tilted his head and waited for me to say something. All the while with that brilliant smile. The only thing I managed to stumble out was, "My angel." I wasn't even sure he heard it, until his smile became impossibly wider.

"I'm no angel, beautiful," he denied.

"I'm not beautiful," I argued. My hair was always a total mess, my skin too pale, my eyes a murky green. Compared to him, I wasn't beautiful.

"We'll see about that. How about we agree to disagree?" he asked and I nodded. "My name is Stephen, by the way," he introduced himself and stuck out a hand to shake.