When a Love Story ends...

I sit before her. I sit and I stare at the stone, at her name, at the dates of her life, at the words, You were Loved, at the words You were Loved. I sit before her and I remember the first time we met she smiled and said hello we were standing in line at the clinic medical unit and she turned around and she smiled and she said hello.

I remember our first cigarette she said want a smoke, tough guy and she laughed at me. I remember the first time we were alone she came upon me in the woods I was broken and she held me and said you'll be okay, you'll be okay, and as long as she held me I was okay.

I remember our first kiss, the way she tasted, her breath, the smell of her skin, the way my heart beat, beat, beat. I remember every minute of our time, every minute spent hiding from people who told us we shouldn't be together, every conversation, every kiss. I remember her eyes thosebeautiful blue eyes like deep water, I remember staring into those eyes and knowing. I remember how her hand felt small and fragile and stronger than I thought it could be. I remember her hair long and black a beautiful mess she used to hide it from the world with a baseball cap.

I remember her smooth cold pale skin like marble the way my hands felt as they moved around it. I remember the scars on her wrists I thought were behind her. I remember crying with her and for her and because of her. I remember laughing with her and for her and because of her. I remember the peace I knew with her, the security I knew with her, the strength I knew with her, the hope I knew with her, the love I knew with her. I knew love with her, love like nothing before it. We had dreams,
plans, we were going to spend our lives together.

We carried each other through blackness and I thought through death and I was wrong. She did what she did. I don't hate her for it anymore. I'm going to do what I'm going to do. I start to cry. Some of the tears are sadness and sorrow, some
are pain and rage, some are for loss, some for forgiveness and some of them, the best of them, are because I am fortunate to have known her at all. I lean toward the stone where she lies and I cry and I whisper I love you, Lilly, and I'll be back to see you, I love you, I'll miss you and I'll be back. I stand and I walk away.
It's time to go.

(text taken from the book: My Friend Leonard by James Frey)

 It's time to go on...Margit, a blog reader...