Death Of A Lover

The Agony of Remembering

It took a few days of non-stop searching, but I finally found him. His name was Philip Van Hueger. Must've been German on his dad's side. Anyways, he lived way out in Ohio somewhere. Road trip!

I knew I had to pack a bag. I just wasn't prepared to go back into that house, but I went anyway.

Oh boy, let's just say that was the most painful visit to my own home. The covers, they still smelled like her. The closet, it still held her clothes. The house itself held memories that could never be forgotten. Every step I took brought a new wave of agony in the form of flashbacks. Ones of her falling asleep in my arms, of us doing yoga together, even of the first time she had stayed over at this house. I was walking down memory lane, but the road was made of broken glass and I had no shoes on.

Then I got to the bedroom.

I then experienced a pain like no other. A pain that brought me to my knees with tears in my eyes. Just a couple feet away was the bed. The bed where so many secrets were told, where so many memories were made. In that very bed is where we had said "I love you" for the very first time. I wiped the tears that were now streaming down my cheeks and managed to stay upright on my feet. I then staggered over to the closet which seemed miles away and started yanking random shirts and pants of mine off their hangers. I opened the suitcase that I always kept in the closet and threw the items into it. I hurriedly zipped the suitcase and almost ran out of the house. I locked the door and headed to my car.

I made a quick pit-stop at a local grocery store to buy a six pack of Monster energy drinks; this was going to be a long ride.

Then I set out on my journey to bring well-deserved justice to a murderer.