Wishes don't come true

It was you. It was always you, and it always will be.

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I remember the first snap or our love, vivid colours on light pink wall. Pale fingers stroking soft caramel tresses, sunbeams. A myriad of stars sprinkled across lightly sun-kissed cheeks. Touching lips, when we kissed it was a storm of confessions.

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I loved how you got flustered so easily. You looked cute when you blushed, didn't you know that? I still remember how we were both young, lovestruck teenage girl vying for the attention of a boy. How you were always blushing and giggling around him, I didn't know how I felt. It was confusing. Those days went pass in a rush, a whirlwind. The days without you went so slow.

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You had a boy that wasn't Ash that loved you, did you know that? Clemont loved you as much as I do, he cried when you died and he cried when you left. He cried when you rejected him, shutting the door in his face (It still echoes). You never notice the small things, do you? It's strange because you're so sensitive, but you never seem to notice the small hints that have been dropping off (maybe it's because you don't care).

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I wish we treasured those days, days where we could smell the scent of flowers in the wind and watched the stars at night together, silver blossoms in the sky tree, cold but beautiful. Where it was so easy to laugh (now I choke it out and there's a hole in my heart where you used to fill it with love) and say "I love you" (I scream it out loud when the clock strikes midnight, when tears fall down my face without consent and I forget to breath, I don't care either way. I scream it inside my head, but it echoes, hollow.)

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We both loved you and we both cried when you died, our heartbeats could never beat to yours again. (Except one of us never moved on.) Isn't it funny how often some people find comfort in others, and others never do? We both missed the dancer who still dance in our hearts, A part of you will never go away.

It's been two weeks since you died, and I'm still afraid to say it. I lock myself in my room and repeat it to myself and the echo reiterates, the birds sing it in the dead of night and my heart beats to the voice of your singing. I walk down the street and I can't hear my footsteps anymore because all I can hear if your own lingering dancesteps. And there it I climb up on the roof and scream it to the whole of Kalos. Serena's dead! Why are you looking for her? If you know the truth why not tell them? She's dead! Why did you lie? She's dead! But no one can hear me.

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Why did you do it? WHY DID YOU DO IT? (But really, I know why you did it, this world hated us and we hated it)

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That day I turned the TV on and I watched it and I cry because for once, I expected this world to give us something right (but I guess I shouldn't have because I'll only be disappointed). It was fake, so fake, all of it. The plasticity of the reporters, the coldness in your teacher's voice, none of them cared for a girl who wasn't right in the head (or so they say). They knew nothing about us. They said you were a happy girl who had a wonderful life, another lie. We both know you were never happy. I have scars on my arms and you have them on your heart. It can fade from your mind but a part of it will stay. We were gay and we shouldn't be but we were. Love shouldn't have restrictions, maybe that was why you were so hesitant to do it.

You were fifteen, a fake. It was the day after your sixteenth birthday when we left, a sixteenth birthday spent crying bloody tears under a night sky, smoky hearts, screaming voices in my head telling me to go, go with you, because why should you stay here? What was left? But instead, I pick up the nearest stone and cut down, down into the old scars, down into soft flesh, and I cry again when the blood runs, because it hurts, everything does.

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I remembered when you used to sigh over boys with a dreamy look on your face. "Tell me you love me more."

"I love you more." Why was I so selfish?

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I miss you. I miss how you danced and how you talked and how you could always repair, always heal, fill up all the holes, stop the tears. I miss the way you would come into the room, the way your eyes showed the stars in them.. I miss the sound of your laugh, the colour of your eyes. The way your hair moved in the wind. I miss your smile. I miss kissing you, feeling your pale skin. I miss walking down the road holding you hand. I miss your scent, your name. Serena. Serena. Serena Yvonne. Never forget. Serena is my love and my first love and my true love. Serena is dead and she's never coming back. Wishes don't come true. Serena Yvonne is dead and no amount of wishing will ever change that. Not even love.

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The day you were buried I was watching. Watching as they put you into the coffin wearing your usual dress, like you were only sleeping. Why did they make it seem like you were sleeping? You weren't sleeping! You were dead! You were dead and there's nothing I or they can do to change that. They can pretend but everyone knew.

And seeing your face, pale, pasty, cold, dead. Knowing your eyes will never open again, knowing that I could never wake up holding you hand or see the laughter in your step ever again
.
And then something inside me just snapped. Shattered. Wishes won't come true. You were dead. You were gone, you weren't coming back. Ever. Ever, ever, ever.

"Serena! Serena! Serena, come back! I miss you, I need you! Don't go! I love you! I love you! Stay! Don't leave me! I love you!"

I screamed my heart out. A cold hand slapped me in the face, steered me out of the way. (Because after all, aren't we just a mistake in their perfect world?) They "thought" I was your sister, but they know I'm not. Love can do things like that, they can lift you up and send you crashing back down again, in a million pieces. It stitches you back up again just so it can tear you apart for a second time, a third, a fourth. It makes you scream until you lose your voice and sometimes you just question everything, like why did you even fall in love in the first place? When will you learn to grow up? It can turn you inside out and burn you up, your heart is charred and your skin turns to ash and everything's crumbling, crumbling, crumbling-
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That night I wished for you to come back, but you never did.
Why was I disappointed? I knew this would happen. But a part of me wanted to cry forever.
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I started talking less. Crying more. Opening my eyes less. Hiding my feelings more.
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There's a part of me that still wishes for you to come back, but even that part of me knows wishes don't come true.