𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 • 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

• 𝐎𝐟 "𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞'𝐬" 𝐚𝐧𝐝 "𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬" •

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Through Kaycee's eyes:

We never say "goodbye" because, for us, it meant that we won't see each other again; and we both know it isn't true because somehow, someway, we always see each other anyway – may it be via Facetime, classes or rehearsals, spontaneous sleepovers, hanging out beyond the comfort of our homes, or just simply chilling wherever, whenever.

We never say "goodbye" because we were so damn sure that we would be seeing each other again the next day.

We don't even end our calls with "bye" because we were sure that once we hang up, we would continue our conversation over some other messaging app we have on our phones. That's why we always say "talk to you later" instead.

"Goodbye" was never in our vocabulary because we were so damn sure that we would always be together again – somehow, someway.

That's why that particular night still haunts me.

We just exited the studio after our last class for the day. You asked me out to dinner because you were starving.

"Let's go to Tendergreens," you said.

I wanted to say "sure." I should've said "sure," but my mind was elsewhere. I was eager to go home and finish some petty, little project I started the day before.

"I'll have to pass. I want to get the painting done by tonight," I answered, looking up from my phone.

You looked angelic that night. As usual, your hair was still damp and your lashes perfectly framed your warm, brown eyes, but the light from the lamp post on the sidewalk made them look warmer, tenderer, and more expressive. It showed me and made me feel the emotions that I have been too in-denial to accept.

Adoration. Admiration. Love.

You chuckled and gave me one of your famous head-hugs – the ones known to be reserved for me. You pressed a firm kiss on my head and I had to use all my willpower to not melt then and there, but the rosy pink tinge on my cheeks told you otherwise.

"Alright, Ricebowl. I'll see you later," you said. I hummed a response.

That was my mistake.

I should've told you "I'll see you later" too.

I should've held on to you for a few more seconds or initiated a conversation that would only last for a few minutes.

Or maybe, at that time when my heart was about to burst through my chest, I should've blurted out the words I've been wanting, meaning, to say to you for years.

"I love you, Sean."

No. I remained silent. I hummed a response. It wasn't even a complete sentence; not even a reciprocation of our "see you later" spiel.

I didn't know that my silence, my unresponsiveness, was my goodbye.

As I sit beside you on the grass, I can see the changes in your features: your hair was long and unkempt. It wasn't even in one of your silly pineapple ponytails. Your warm, brown eyes were empty and adorned with dark circles underneath. Your cheeks appeared sunken, your face was pale, and I don't think I've seen a glimpse of your dimples for the past few months.

Your eyes were trained forward, taking in every single detail around you; every little detail in front of you.

Heaven welcomes another angel: 

Kaycee Caitlin Rice

Loved and will never be forgotten

We never said "goodbye" because it meant that we won't see each other again, and, maybe, it holds some truth.

You said "I'll see you later" because, in the future, you definitely would.

We would be together again, basking in the beauty and warmth of this paradise – the place where we would be, as many people have said. We would be dancing with the butterflies and the wind, the flowers and leaves gently swaying with our movement, and the sound of nature as our music.

And maybe my "goodbye" holds some truth because I, on my end, won't get to be with you. I would have to wait for the day I can make it up to you and say "It's nice to see you again."

Through Sean's eyes:

"A drunk driver's truck collided with her car. Her body was wedged between the truck's bumper and the lamp post. It was impossible for her to make it," the officer explained.

We never say "goodbye" because, for us, it meant that we won't see each other again; and we both know it isn't true because somehow, someway, we always see each other anyway – may it be via Facetime, classes or rehearsals, spontaneous sleepovers, hanging out beyond the comfort of our homes, or just simply chilling wherever, whenever.

We never say "goodbye" because we were so damn sure that we would be seeing each other again the next day.

We don't even end our calls with "bye" because we were sure that once we hang up, we would continue our conversation over some other messaging app we have on our phones. That's why we always say "talk to you later" instead.

"Goodbye" was never in our vocabulary because we were so damn sure that we would always be together again – somehow, someway.

But that night, you didn't say it back. You didn't say our spiel back. You just hummed a response.

At that moment, it didn't bother me. I didn't overanalyze it because I knew that I said it and that it wouldn't change a damn thing. It didn't bother me because I knew that once we were on our beds, donned in our comfy PJs, we would be seeing each other's goofy grins again, albeit through our cellphone screens.

That was my mistake.

It didn't occur to me that your response was already a "goodbye."

A lot of things were left unsaid. A lot of questions were left unanswered. A lot of plans were left behind.

"I love you, Kaycee."

"Will you go on a date with me?"

"I plan to marry you someday."

"I want to grow old with you."

As I sit in front of your grave, my eyes taking in every single detail on your tombstone, it occurred to me that you may have said your "goodbye," but I haven't said mine. You may have been, unknowingly, ready to leave, but I wasn't done with you yet.

As I sit in front of your grave, the only thing running through my mind was, "I'll see you soon, Kayc."

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