I walked past her house. My gray hoodie flapped around me in the autumn breeze. The air was surprisingly warm, like she was trying to wrap her arms around me, envelop me, protect me as she always had. I hate her. I hate that I can never stay mad at her even when she says the worst things. I hate how I would forgive her, no matter what she did. I hate seeing pictures of her because I can only imagine her smiling, saying she did everything to avoid me-which was a lie. I hate that I knew she lied constantly, how she was always around me even when she claimed she had better things to do. I hate that she's gone, that I won't be seeing her around anymore. She is gone because of my stupidity. If only I had saved her as much as she saved me, she would be her instead of me. The painful reminders of her are not hard to find. It is not hard to remember why, exactly why, the only girl I ever loved is dead. I lie awake and think about her laugh, her jokes, her voice. How intelligent and unique she was. The world is a worse place without her, one of the most amazing and wonderful people to walk the earth. I do not feel as if I am alive without her, as if I am as deep below the ground as her. She left me, hollow and empty, for what they say is a better place. How do they know? Her place is with me. She was infuriating, but I won't forget her. I hate her, and it love her.
