heart like yours / phan

4 / from

D.

I need to stop myself from dying along with Phil.

In the past weeks, I've been meaning to tell Phil that I loved him, and part of me always will. I need to tell him before it's too late and I'll be left with a heart full of hurt and regret.

I can't quite work out how I became to love this ginger-but-not-anymore, weird, crazy, funny, wise human being, but along the long, unsteady path of friendship I fell in love.

And now I'm losing him.

Today, I have to tell him today. I need to tell him that I love him, that I always have and that part of me always will. I have to tell him that even though I know he's dying, my heart somehow beats with his, and nothing can deter of stop that.

When Phil dies, I know that my entire life will be shattered. I know that every kind of natural disaster will erupt through my world until I am nothing but a barren, destroyed wasteland of whom I used to be. Phil never fails to pick me up when I'm down, and as cheesy as it sounds, at one point he was the only person keeping me alive; even I'd given up on myself.

I need Phil so much, and even though I know that he will inevitably, unfairly be ripped out of my grasp soon, he needs to know or I fear I will spend the rest of my life (however long) going insane over it.

As I walk along the familiar hospital corridor, the overly clean but not carpet beneath my trailing converse shoes, my backpack weighing down one shoulder and my usual jacket on, I notice something different;

Phil's door is open.

I feel my heart momentarily pause, then start wrenching around so wildly inside my chest that I feel my ribs crack and my skin spilt open and I watch in shock as there's this pain in my chest and I watch as my heart is suddenly on the floor.

I look up and see Phil's mother standing there, her hand gently rubbing my shoulder and her own eyes sad and sympathetic. She steps on my heart, crushing it further into the stupid, stupid, hospital carpet. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry.

"He's gone, isn't he?" I ask in a voice which is not my own; I don't sound this hollow, this empty, this... shattered.

"I'm sorry Dan," she says, pulling me into a tight hug.

I can smell the sweet scent of her perfume, feel the metal of her necklace digging into my skin, feel how she's gripping me so tightly it's as if she gave me this hug because she needed it not me. She just lost her son, I tell myself, so get over yourself.

"Phil, he gave me this box for you," she says, handing a bright blue gift box to me, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," I say gently, staring from the box in my hands before lifting my gaze up to Mrs Lester, "I might... I might head home. I-I'm sorry he's gone."

She nods and gives me a strained smile before turning and shuffling in the opposite direction of me. I turn and run out of the hospital, clutching the box tightly to my chest as I feel my body jolt with every time my shoes thud against the concrete path.

I can feel the tears in my eyes begin to fall as I stop outside my front door, fumbling for a key and struggling to unlock the door to my empty house with my shaking hands. I run inside, slamming the door shut behind me and run upstairs, locking myself in my room. I place the box on my desk, sit on my bed, bury my face into one of my pillows and scream until my pillow is soaked with tears and my lungs can't take it anymore.

Even though this was in a long time coming, I cannot seem to fathom that he's really gone. Never again will I see his smile, feel his touch, see the ginger begin to creep back into his hair, watch him recover, visit him after school, thank him for existing and share his home. But there's also many things he won't do; he will never fall in love, kiss someone, graduate, defeat cancer, leave hospital healthy, regrow his hair, love me back.

I knew emotions could cause pain, but never have I felt my chest being ripped apart like this before, never have I been doubled over, struggling to breathe simply because the sobs won't stop choking out of me, never have I so badly wanted my world to end.

I hate Phil, I hate him for doing this. I hate him for making me love him, I hate him for not being able to fight, I hate him for being so fucking amazing, I hate him for making me keep living.

I hate him so much, but I love him so much more.

I want to give up, I want to die, I want to end it all, I want this almighty pain to leave me. I want to follow Phil, go where he's gone, be with him. Phil is my home, I need him, I still need him so fucking badly. My chest is hurting, everything is hurting. The sadness is somehow making my chest ache, my mind ache, my heart ache, my lungs unable to function correctly and my eyes unable to stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks, closely resembling rain.

I grasp my jacket tightly, ready to pull it off me, when I hear the unmistakeable noise of crumpling paper. Confused and unable to think properly, I reach into a more hidden pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. When I open it, I immediately recognise Phil's handwriting.

the hardest part of this is leaving you.

I sink to my knees, crumpling the paper and clenching my fist tightly around the small message from Phil. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, concentrating solely on not losing it and not going completely mad;

But holy shit I'm in so much pain right now that I think I'm going to die too.