I sit among the few people who cared enough to show.
She was afraid to let people in.
She cared so much about every tiny thing in the world, but the smallest of things was what killed her.
The thing she let in with no limitations.
Herself.
As her grandmother delivers the eulogy, a million thoughts race across my mind.
How little do these people know what really happened?
Do they know our story?
Do they know her story?
I finally muster the courage to walk up to her.
I want to caress her cheek.
To hold her hand.
To press my lips against hers.
To remind her of her worth.
To hear her voice.
But most of all,
to tell her i love her one last time.
"Baby, i'm so sorry. I'm sorry i let you die, but I won't let your story die with you." As I look to the ceiling and try to blink away the tears, I think of all the memories we shared, the things she told me that she couldn't tell anyone else. The countless amount of selfless things she did that will be left unknown if I don't say something.
I am doing this for her.
This is our story.
