"See you again!"

You were smiling when you waved your hand goodbye. Your ocean blue eyes twinkled under the sunlight—filled with mirth and happiness. Those winks and smirks—they are imprinted in my memory like a tattoo against my skin.

Who would have thought that would be the last time?

The excitement of seeing you again for the next days to come turned to grief. Why would you do that, amoré?

Why would you show me your smiles and let your laughter ring in my ears for hours if behind all of them—you really meant to cry? Why would you show me butterflies when all there is is stinging bees inside you? Why would you conceal your wounds and bleed in the dark alone?

Why?

Why didn't you let me keep you in tact? Why didn't you let me stitch your wounds up little by little? Why didn't you let those bees sting me too instead of keeping the pain by yourself? Why would you hide your vulnerability from me when all I want is for you to be alright and happy too?

Why would you bleed yourself to death alone?

"I'm sorry." I fell on my knees in front of your grave.

I couldn't have it in me to see you get buried under the ground like that. But what could I do? I failed to see the real you—the real you who was suffering.

How many times did you attempted to show me but thought of it otherwise? How many times did I stopped you from talking when you have finally gathered the will to ask for help? How many times did I failed you, amoré?

How many times?

I failed to save you. I failed.

How could a simple memory hurt like this?

"I'm sorry."

🥀
© astaire_grey