The Girl Living Inside His Dreams

Enveloped By Excruiating Pain

   As a little boy, I was an asshole. Every single girl that I set my eyes upon, already I formed master plans on how to pick on her. Hair pulling and name calling were my favorite hobbies. Till the day I met one girl named Azalea. This girl, I tried for weeks to come up with something to make her cry. Azalea remained strong and stubborn though. She never once cried and she called me names in return. I really liked how she called me names back. Not a single soul had ever said things back to me. It made me respect her. One day I apologized for every mean thing I said and asked her to be my friend. She forgave me but was often wary that I would take back my nice words and again decide to be mean to her.
On the years passed, and the closer we grew to one another. We had sleepovers and we were best friends. We had each other's backs and we helped each other in class, and in life. I loved her before I knew it and lost her before I could express it. Azalea was 14 when she was diagnosed with cancer. My heart beat fast in my chest as her parents explained to my parents why she couldn't stay the night anymore. I listened quietly on the stairs and when I heard those words, I could not hold back the tears. It was then that I realized how much I loved her.
The next few months consisted of arguing with my parents because I wanted to see her but she didn't want to see me apparently. I pleaded with God to help her and heal her. I guess he didn't hear me because on November 3rd of 2013, she was gone.
   Azalea had died in her sleep, my parents claimed she went in peace. I still go to her grave every few months with her favorite flowers and I spend hours talking to no one, wishing I could have another last conversation with Azalea.
When she first died all I could feel was regret over not telling her how I felt, wondering if she felt the same way. I hoped she had because then I wouldn't feel so alone. I still have dreams about her at least once a week too. Sometimes they are more nightmarish than a blissful dream though. Now after almost four years, I think of her less and in turn dream of her less too. I still visit her grave twice a year on her birthday and her death day. I sometimes will drive up to her grave and just stare at it. Sometimes I think about what could have been, and I try to picture Azalea as a grown woman. I wonder if we would have been each other's first and last in life.
Most people didn't know her. Azalea was quiet until you sparked the fire inside of her, and then you either stuck around or you left. Most left after realizing that she didn't just open up to anyone as quickly as other kids did. I used to think that she caught me like a spider catches bugs, but now I realize that this whole time I was running towards her. I needed her to yank me off my feet and I needed her to catch me. This whole time I wanted her to save me but I needed to save her and I couldn't even do that.