An Indescribable Type of Gorgeous

A Beautiful Death in June

I don't believe you know you've destroyed me. From every heartache to heavy sobs followed by a shower of salty tears, my pain does not strike you in any way- you show no emotion. I can sit and stir at my plate all lunch and your eyes still sparkle and gleam with happiness. It's pitiful that when your eyes shine, I once thought they shined for me.

You aren't the vicious kind. Perhaps, I could argue you are the opposite. Your eyes change colors like the quivering sea, friendly and dancing with every laugh and joke. You were so playful and glistening with uncomparable light; and with every word I was pulled deeper into your intoxicating riptide. Why do people trust the sea? One moment the waves gently kiss your toes and the next you're drowning in a storm of rage and neglect. Your eyes are deceitful, they show me kindness and fill my emptiness with hope and budding aspirations. They look at me as if I deserve the world. Your eyes and my eyes seemed to always meet in the most unplanned and bashful way- our curious minds bloomed with color. How can such raw and tender emotions be faked? You could win an Oscar for that type of manipulation.

One particular moment it was in the summer, I sat alone on the concrete, my hands cracked from the rough stone hugging my palms. The trees rustled as the wind parted through gently, brushing their rich green leaves around. Their symphony coaxed my screaming conscience. I remember I felt as if I could stop the hurting, that the pain inside my chest was just a mixture of chemicals- and chemicals aren't poetic or true pain. Chemicals can be quelled. But somehow, in a minute I'd rather dig my hands deeper into the concrete if the pain inside would dissipate. You, my friend, are the chlorine burning and tearing apart my insides. You are the deadliest chemical that I've ever tasted. When I run to you-I take off the cap. I pick up my phone- It's like I'm pouring myself a glass.

You are the worst pain I've ever felt- and it's not your absence that drives me mad- it's your presence. Every time you smile, every time you look me in the eyes, it takes me back to when I trusted you. And when I trusted you was when I loved you; when I could look at you and still see a person I knew fully and deeply. I knew that when you were quiet you were scared, and when you laughed your laugh wasn't always genuine. And when we looked at each other we both knew what the other was thinking. That person is dead. They died when the sun set in June; they died when I saw you walk out of the school for that last time. When you returned, your aura was different- even the way you looked changed. The way your eyes danced was in a slow, mournful waltz. We were out of step, out of beat. Our rhythms no longer harmonized like they used to.

Now that you're dead, I have no grave to mourn on. Maybe a few old snapshots or a bracelet we made together- but it's difficult to grieve when you've become a walking ghost. You haunt me day and night. These dark engraved circles around my eyes are a touch of remembrance, and my heart is stained from your embrace. Your weary, dull eyes vary less and less with color, and what is an ocean without swirls and magnificent waltzes? The longer I lie to myself and pray your remains are who you were, it is more certain that I too, will die.

Here I leave my love- it isn't dead, just changed. And here I promise that I too, will change. Happy Birthday.