stay a little longer.

preface.

It's kind of funny once you think about it. You take time to finally analyze over what had just happened.

At first, its numbness, an empty hallow pit inside your stomach. Then it's guilt. Guilt for not feeling anything; not even remorse. Then comes the sadness, pain and depression. It hits you all at once, all three.

     You're sitting there, next to your bed, your freshly made coffee is getting cold but you don't care. You can make another one. But when you do, the same thing happens. It gets cold. Your mind isn't straight, it's like a jumble of odd socks in a rusty drawer, wanting to be sorted out but never attended too.

That's how I felt. Like old socks.

They used to say to me “The pain gets better” or “You'll find another one” but clearly they didn't understand. They didn't understand that when he died, when he left this heavenly earth, he took my world with him.

He was my world.

We were perfect for each other, soul mates. We fit like two jigsaw pieces. But we weren't just jigsaw pieces. We were the whole jigsaw puzzle. Our low was strong. But no-one understood that. They thought it was puppy love, teenage romance, honeymoon stage.

They didn't understand the concept.

When I first heard the news, no-one moved. It was like a picture. Time stood still.

Then I heard the cry of his mother. Her soul wept for her dead son. I took her to a counselor in the hospital the next day. She thanked me and invited me for lunch.

I never saw her again. Why would I want to? She reminded me too much of him.

     Eventually, as time progressed I stopped eating. My love for food was abolished that day. Everything around me look appalling. My mom thought I was crazy. She thought I had some kind of mental-disorder. And that's what she told everyone. She told everyone I was crazy. And maybe she was right. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I deserved everything that came to me. Then again, I never was a happy girl. I suffered from depression from the ages 8 to 15 and even after then, I pretended everything was getting better just to get everyone off my back. It worked. I never attended another therapy session again.

     I had to find some form of self-help on my own. And so I wrote. I wrote about girls who were flawed, girls who weren't perfect in life and girls who had similarities to me. You see because when I wrote about these girls I could feel their pain. I wasn't just writing anything off of the top of my head because all those emotions were real. All those emotions were me.

My little sister Emmy had stopped talking to me. 1 week and 3 days after he died and she had completely cut me off.

She was the last person I had. My mom was no help, she thought I was crazy.

The last thing she said to me was “more fool you”.

And I felt like a fool. I felt like a fool because It had been ten days since he had died and I still hadn't faced reality. I didn't see his parents, I didn't go to the funeral and I certainly didn't go to school. I drowned myself in self-pity.

It was no use. He wasn't coming back. I was never going to see him again.  

My reason for existence was gone. So what was left for me?

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hi guys, new story. 

if any of you make cover could you please contact me?

ty.