Letters to Rose,

twenty seven

You were one of those casualties.

You're such a fool, Rose! Why did you get on that train? Why couldn't you wait a little while longer for the next one? Why didn't I come and get you?

I'm sorry. You had no idea. You had no idea that some idiotic bastard decided to blow up that train. No one on that train had seen anything coming.

That man, waiting for his girlfriend, never got to meet the love of his life. And neither did I.

When they released your body, I felt nothing at first. But all at once, my world fell before me.

You were unconscious; a lifeless soul. Your body was burned and bruised, dried blood seeping out of the vast scratches that dirtied your ivory flesh.

Your thin lips, curved finely as if they had been drawn into their bowlike appeal by Cupid himself, were drained of their usual rosy color while parting themselves slightly.

You wore a pale yellow sundress, that was now tattered to shreds as your raven hair that was once braided neatly on the sides of your head, now hung limp across your shoulders, in a manner just like that of dead vines.

Your body lay cold and stiff on that makeshift mattress. You were a different kind of still from when you were sleeping. You didn't look peaceful, but rather betrayed.

Who knew tears could fall so easily?

Your eyes were glossed over and dull as I gingerly graze my fingertips past your eyelids, sealing themselves to rest, with you now forever unmoving.

This wasn't you, Rose, here on this bed.

This wasn't you, my best friend, here on this bed.

This wasn't you, the love of my life, here on this bed.

But in fact it was.

❁❁❁