Dear Lily,
Today marks the one month anniversary of your death. I thought I should see you, or rather what's left of you.
All you are now is a box of bones, a gravestone and my most precious memory.
I regret to say that I'm beginning to forget things about you. Like your favourite colour socks, or what type of shirts you liked. I don't think I could ever forget you though, Lily Horowitz.
I left your favourite kind of flowers by your grave. I hope from heaven you can see them and that they made you smile.
I try very hard to forget and move on. I have to find a job and unfortunately no one hires people with a profession in mourning and moping around.
I don't want to forget. But I need to. I need to at least forget about the pain that your passing caused. Right now my best friend is a bottle of beer and my bed. My real friends can't seem to dig me up from my sheets.
I've made my bed and now I'm lying in it.
Love from your professional mourner,
Andrew.
YOU ARE READING
Letters To Lily
Short Story"Why did you leave me," I had cried. "Don't you dare leave me lonely, Lily. Don't you dare." But you had already left. --- The story of a man, written in letters, falling into the abyss of grief. Inspired by Hotel Ceiling by Rixton
