If I Could Tell Him

He Was It For Me.

I don't remember a time he was unloved. A time he was ever alone or without someone. Every minute of his life he was cared for, bathed in passion and happiness. His mother, his brother, nieces and me. It would be nice if it was just me. If it had always been me, I wouldn't be standing at the back of the crowd in a black dress with a veil hiding my face, I'd be there. Front and center where she is. Where I should have been? A place I deserved, I wanted so bad. A place with him.

In case you haven't guessed, I'm at a funeral. Not that anyone here knows I'm here. No. I can't let them know that I loved him. That when he passed, I died inside. They have to believe it was always her, because that's what they want to believe. But for 20 years, it had been me. It should have always been me. 

I flicked through the pages of my year 9 textbook; the name Ethia Walker sketched neatly on each page. I took in absolutely none of the information before throwing it aside against the hard floor. Sighs melted from my lips as I lifted the weight of my laptop up onto the plush pillow of my bed. Up onto my screen flashes the bright light of a game I played a lot, and I began browsing it, forgetting all about the previous "revision". I never thought he would be there honestly. A boy like him, on a game for losers with no friends. He took me off guard with his whit and passion for art. He was polite, gentle and kind. Like a real gentleman.

What caught me off was when he sent his number. "Add me?", the text etched into the screen in bold letters. Add him? Sure, why not. I was used to friends. But this was different. I added the name and number into my phone and after a few minutes... BRRRRNG, a picture. His picture. A beautiful boy with a passionate smile and this ornate face. A boy with long hair and soft eyes that I could have swum in. 13, yeah, he was definitely 13.

The texts were nice, flirtatious and chaotic, as any childish relationship should be. He was sweet, pleasant to be around. His voice was hypnotic and beautiful, it cursed me to love it. To love him. Being 13 had suddenly become a lot more interesting. The messages were innocent, youthful. Full of life and love with little to no worry or stress. No tainted emotions of jealousy. No previous heartbreak to compare him to. Just the pure, passionate tone of his texts and his voice.

Just us.