I distinctly remember the last time you cried. We were watching that "supposed to be" romantic comedy where the dog dies. I still to this day don't understand why death is classified as a romantic comedy. It is neither humorous enough to make me smile nor beautiful enough to make a person fall in love, and yet "romance" and "comedy" were the chosen characteristics to surround this movie. But you laid your head on my shoulder and wept for this scripted death. Movie deaths have nowhere close to the commitment of a real life death. When the director calls the word, they can stop being dead and go home to their families and friends. Their lungs can still breathe life like a balloon inflating and deflating. They still exist, in more than just memories. You even googled this dog to see if he was still alive and when your phone showed all signs of life, you cried more tears. Happy tears. The last time you cried was happy.
And I'm sitting here crying tears that aren't and I wish you were around to help me realize that she's not dead and that it's all scripted but it's you this time.
I look around at rows of seats filled with your family and our schoolmates and I wish it was a set from a romantic comedy. And after I could just check my phone and find that the cancer was a lie and none of this was real. But I can't. I can't even walk up to see you one last time because I'm scared you'll look different than the last time I saw you. You were so happy.
I keep hoping that a director will pop up and yell "cut" but it appears that our movie's ending was a lot closer than I thought. And all I want is a sequel.
