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Tears Don't Fall

Tags: lover, grief, fight

Inner grief of losing a lover...

June 17, 2012

We buried you today. The rain fell because the sky would miss your smiling face. You lay in the corner of the cemetery, your funeral very short and to the point. We couldn't afford a proper service or a fancy urn. We took a coffee can and plastered all of the pictures we have of you on it. We had no Bible, but we didn't think that you believed in Him anyway. Not after your mom abandoned you when you were ten.

Everyone said our good-byes amid the pouring rain. Your name is carved on a small chunk of polished granite; it was all we could get for you. It's better than nothing. We all went back to Jason's house, the place where you pretty well lived, since your mom left, that is up until a year ago.

I shed no tears over your grave. I had nothing but this sickening and twisted feeling in my guts. You were dead to me when I gave you an ultimatum. Me or the methamphetamines. You chose meth. You chose the thing that would eventually kill you in three years time. I loved you...and I thought maybe I could get you to see...but I couldn't.

I failed you.

I was there the first time you tried it, I should have knocked it out of your hands, flushed it down the toliet...but no... like an idiot I stood by idly and let you do it. I wish I would have done something. Anything... If I did maybe you'd still be alive. Maybe you wouldn't have had to go through an abortion and two really sick babies in the past three years.

I saw him the day they told us you were dead, in the bar, the dealer who sold you that meth, the one who you slept with so you could get more, the one who hired you out as his personal hooker all in payment for one fucking ounce of that shit made of Drano and who knows what else.

I had about ten shots of Seagrams whiskey, getting lost in the burn and the memories, the guys had left me alone for a bit, something about going for a cigerette. He came up to my table and smartly asked if I'd seen his "whore" around. This guy was roughly 30-35ish and twice my size. I drained my shot glass and slammed it down on the table.

"Yeah, she's six feet under, where you can't use her anymore," I gruffly replied.

I fished some money out of my pocket to pay my tab and tipped the waitress, then left the dim atmosphere of the bar for the rain. It felt good on my face.

I remembered our first kiss was in a similar setting a long time ago.

He followed me outside. "Too bad, that bitch had one hell of a bo--"

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and punched him as hard as I could in the gut. He doubled over bringing his ugly crank bugged face down to my level. I punched him squared in the mouth, snapping his rotted teeth, like dead twigs before a bull dozer. A third punch and I broke his nose. I drew my fist back for a fourth round to the temple, but found myself being wrestled away by Jason and Tony. They convinced me to get back into the car and go home.

I woke up in the room where you stayed. Why they put me there I have no idea.

A nasty hangover pounding in my skull, I inhaled deeply. I nearly choked. Your blankets still faintly smelled like your perfume, tangerine and jasmine... The pain in my heart too great. I wept silently into the sheets.

I remembered your smile, your long blond hair, the contours of your body, bright blue eyes, your soft mouth. You wanted to be a social worker. You were kind and loving. You wanted a big family with lots of kids. I would have given it to you. I wanted to make you happy. I remembered You. I laid out all my grief that night, all in one day my world reduced itself to ashes.

"I love you, Sarah" I whispered into the darkness.

**

Farewell my love, may we see each other beyond the veil of death...

{In loving memory of Sarah Victoria Mayrlin. (April 14, 1995- June 13, 2012)}

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