he's a portrait {frerard}

Art: 11

I can't think of a time someone has pitied me more than now.

Was it because of my slight fame? Their connection to who I was with?

But I hated it.

I hated the pointless pity from people who never knew a thing, who only thought it good because it was the clique thing to do.

It was stupid and rude.

You can't say sorry because you didn't know anything or even do anything. With me, I won't even want you to talk to me, touch me, or try to make me feel better. Because nothing will make me feel better. Not all the champagne bottles in the world could make me feel better. Nothing, possibly nothing, could make me feel better.

I had even neglected the recent pet my parents got me. I neglected phone calls from people at the Gallery. I neglected everyone's urge to talk to me. I just didn't want to have to deal with anything.

I threw away my art supplies and trashed my entire building.

In what? Stupid built up anger that wasn't even necessary? Anger at who?

Not Arthur.

Myself?

I don't know, and right now I didn't want to think about it.

Arthur was the only thing keeping me happy, my very will to live. He was my beacon. My everything.

And I was stupid to think it would last forever. Because happiness isn't forever and forever isn't even possible. I don't know how I could've got myself tangled up in this? How I could've gotten so attached because now, now that I had fallen, it was tearing me apart. How could I have been so careless?

Love?

That's what it was.

And yes, I was emotionally torn from falling too hard too fast, and now breaking into a million pieces, but I didn't regret anything. I don't regret falling in love with this beautiful boy who in now way deserved what came to him.

I just couldn't have done anything about it. I maybe could have woken up earlier? But no. I just didn't. And God, do I regret that. I feel guilt and completely terrible knowing I might have in some small way possible been able to change things.

And every day I would shed a small tear, knowing that he was gone. That nothing in my life would be the same. Recalling how things happened so clearly. Just making me want to kill myself a little more every day. But I wouldn't give up yet. Because he had noticed the scars and I refused to give up for him. I refused to give out and be weak for him. I would hang on for him, I would live my life sentence.

All of him.

It would be worth it.

And I would be fully happy again.

The memory of his existence was enough to remind me of that.

×××

I remember it every day.

Getting a call that you were in a hospital. That you had been in a wreck. That you were dying.

And I did start crying.

I remember my rapid heart beat and how desperate I was to see your torn up body. And I knew that no matter how you looked, you would still be beautiful, and your personality would still shine brightly and give me a warm feeling.

But that time I had glanced at you, my entire body dropped, dead and cold.

If it weren't for the people pushing me back, I would have probably rushed in and held your hand, told you I loved you.

I can't remember the last time I told you I loved you or if I even said it in the first place.

I wish I would've.

I would've held your hand, kiss your forehead and tell you everything was going to be okay even though we both would know it wasn't.

I would've tried to hold on to you for as long as possible.

Because I love you and I hope you know that.

Whether heaven is real or you're somewhere in between, or maybe nowhere at all -I hope you know I love you.

And I remember being the only one at your funeral. The seats were cold, but I wouldn't have missed any of it for the world. The grateful words coming from the preacher; but I was useless. I hadn't given a speech, because it wasn't important and would'nt have mattered. You would be the only one I would want to hear it.

I sat on the cold bench, not caring how the breeze messed up my hair and blew my tears away easily.

It's been a few years, but I come here every day.

Just to see you. Maybe I'm talking to myself and you're not there, but at the same time I can feel your presence -dead or not. I just wish I could see you. A simple memory just isn't enough and I fear that one day when I get old I'll forget.

Gerard A. Way
1986-2004
au revoir

I didn't understand what 'au revoir' meant, but I sounded nice, it looked beautiful on his gravestone and it looked perfect there.

I think someone had told me once, an old man walking past the graveyards. He claimed he came from France. And I believed him; I just wish I would have paid more attention.

"I love you," I whispered hoarsly, the wind easily filling my empty chest and shutting me up. I know he probably couldn't hear me, but I just needed to say it. Every day.

I felt empty, alone, depressed, just by looking at his grave. A small reminder of how much positively he managed to obtain. I smiled lightly at fond memories of him smiling, his chuckle, everything about how.

It was as if everything reminded me of him. I would see him in the colors of Fall, embark on his eyes while staring at the changing colors of the leaves. His soft pale skin that glowed like the street lights and how much his skin resembled the white snow. His personality was everywhere. And it was beautiful.

×××

a/n: so I'll be putting up a prologue from Gerard's (Arthur's) point of view.

i'm not sorry for killing him off :)

i also hated writing this chapter like holy shit.