First Person p.o.v
I'm sitting in the front row, draped in black like the rest of the room...It's gloomy, but how could it not be? It was the funeral of someone who was important to all these people, but couldn't see it themselves. All thanks to a few hellish people who though they were better. Once they were more happy, and joying. Now, they are a more precious jewel that family and friends wish they could hug at least one..last..time.
Sadly, it isn't possible now. The small talk in the room is just a background noise compared to my beating, rushing heart. I've cried so much already, but I feel the tears pick at my dry eyes. "It'll be okay...They're in a better place now.."
Yeah...maybe you're right, but it doesn't etch the pain away...it doesn't make that fact that they're gone any better. I don't even want to hear that bullshit anymore. They're dead...and that's it. Nothing more...nothing less.
I miss them, yes, I won't dare deny it. I still must go on for them, even if that its self kills me. I can't disappoint them. They were all I had left, so I will carry as they pretended. Happy, kind, sweet, loving..I could go on, but there is already tears pouring down, and staining my cheeks again.
People are staring, and it makes it even more unbareable. The thought of looking vulnerable disgusted me, so I left the room to go cry alone, like always. I wish I could have saved them. I felt helpless with the first call from their mother about what happen. I don't have a time machine, so I can't turn back time to make it all better, so I'll just sit here..helpless..crying..remembering how they talked, looked, etc, because if I ever forgot the image. I couldn't live with myself.
