Weeping Willow

Final Chapter.

                 

Crane's POV.

The campus is crowded as I try to navigate back to my dorm. People push past, knocking into my shoulders without a care in the world. I'm invisible to them. My eyes stay glued to the floor, trying not to trip over my own feet. My legs are long, giving me somewhat of an advantage, but not much anymore. I used to be graceful, floating down the hallways with poise. Not anymore. I've just finished the first week of my Freshman year at college. I don't feel much smarter. I feel older though, with every single day that passes I feel older, my body heavier. It's becoming too much almost.

I finally make it outside and take a deep breath of fall air. It's thick when it coats my throat. I feel like screaming in frustration, even though nothing happened today. Since last year, my head hasn't been the same. I'm aware of it, but I can't fix it. I've tried. It's like I'm forgetting something that's so important, except I can't forget it. I could never forget her, even if I tried. And I have and still do try, I've listened to countless advice from countless people, but none of them understand.

No one will ever understand that with each day that passes that she's gone, I lose a little more of myself.

"She's in a better place," Jesse said when I broke up with him six months ago.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, but it's time to move on," my parents said when I didn't leave my room for weeks.

Jesse couldn't deal with my sadness. I guess he only liked me when I was the bubbly, popular girl who never stopped smiling. There was always a little sadness behind my laughter, but when Chaucer left she took every ounce of my happiness with her. l And now, the only thing I'm left with is my raw sadness. It's dark and ugly and right on the surface.

I broke up with Jesse when he couldn't handle my ugly anymore.

I stopped answering the sporadic phone calls from my parents when I realized that I saw my therapist more than them.

I stopped putting on makeup when I forgot the sound of my own laughter.

Two girls, arm in arm walk arm in arm past me and as much as I try to look away, as much as it still hurts me to see anyone happy, I can't stop staring at them. The way the blond leans into the dark skinned girl gives me the impression that they have been best friends for a while. Maybe their whole lives.

My mind begins to move, creating a life for the two strangers. Maybe they grew up together. Together, they have probably grown from their dreams of being princesses to their dreams of running their own shops. Maybe those two have had more laughs than fights. Maybe they will be able to depend on each other for the rest of their lives. I hope that they get to room together. I hope that they get to be the Maid of Honor in each other's weddings.

I hope they have everything that I never will.

I used to torture Chaucer with pictures in magazines of wedding dresses. I loved watching her cringe when I went through five different updos- explaining how I would wear my makeup to match each dress. She never asked me to stop. She always indulged into every single thing that I shared with her. She let me be myself in the purest way, and now that she's gone, I just don't know who that is.

I tried to be happy for a while. I tried to laugh along with jokes. I tried to share small conversations with strangers. I even went to the movies with my new roommate, Sarai. We were getting along fine, sharing popcorn and everything, until the supposed comedy took a wrong turn. The moment a car crashed on screen, I screamed and couldn't stop until the lights drowned out the darkness on and security rushed to my seat.

I couldn't have possibly planned for this loss.  There was no preparation to be done before half of my soul was suddenly ripped out of me. I went through all the stages of grief. Sadness, denial, anger.

I was so angry at Chaucer for putting that phone in her hand. I couldn't understand how someone so smart could be so stupid. Except she wasn't stupid, she just wasn't thinking in the moment that mattered the most. When I got to my final stage of grief, I finally accepted that she wasn't coming back. I stopped calling her number just to hear our giggles on her silly voicemail. I stopped texting her number, I stopped begging her to come back to me. I've even stopped seeing her in my dreams.

I have so many questions for the people who can make it through such a loss and come out even halfway okay. How can they breathe when their heart is shredded? I admire people who can say their lost one's name without their stomach boiling into lava. I look up to the strength it takes to put a smile on their face and continue with their lives. That kind of strength is incredible, but sadly, I'm not that strong. Not yet.

There are some moments where I find myself admiring the beauty in simple things again, but it doesn't take long to relate it to her.

My chest is a constant fire and no one is here to put it out.

 

Disclosure:

 

I   worked with AT&T on their "It can Wait" campaign. This campaign   is so important and I'm honored to share this story with you. It happened to   Chaucer, it can happen to you. No glance is worth a life.