30 November 2015
Wednesday
Ireland
Her soul was like a rose. Fully blossomed and spread like the wings of an eagle. Each petal delicately dipped in an ounce of joy and wonder and love and beauty.
Her fingers were like feathers. Light and soft and so, so gentle that not even the flutters of a butterfly could compare.
Her lips were like velvet. Rich and creamy like saturated, spongy, red cake. So soft and plump, yet pointed and accented like the tip of an arrow.
Her love was like heaven. So pure and welcoming. With arms open wide like the pearly white gates and smile so bright like at the end of the tunnel, her love overtook you completely to the point that you would be blinded by her compassion.
There was no other way to describe it.
To describe her.
She was Ryan.
Simplistic, quirky, silly ole' Ryan.
But if that was the case, then why was I sitting here, on the pews of some run down church, hours after the ceremony, questioning everything around me when there really were no answers?
Everything led straight back to her simple little brain that was overwhelmed with too much evil and temptation that not even the power of three little words could break.
It saddened me.
I never understood death. I couldn't grasp the concept of how someone could be there one second and then completely gone the next as if they'd just vanished into thin air.
The only trace of her left behind was the soft ringing of her laughter in the wind and the faint scent of her J'adore perfume.
It hurt.
It wasn't much longer, though, that I found myself perched on the edge of her bed with a small diary locked under my fingertips.
I wanted to read it.
I wanted to so badly, but some part of me felt that she'd walk in at any moment and catch me.
I didn't want to ever invade her personal thoughts and privacy.
So instead, I stared at the purple leather cover, my fingers picking at that small lifted corner.
I still couldn't understand why she did it. I couldn't understand how she hid it. And I couldn't understand what she expected to get out of it.
Was ending your life some form of glorification? Was it a satisfactory way of saying "look at me cheating the system." I didn't understand the mentality behind it, more than just "it'll be better" or "life will be better without me."
Because truth is, life fucking sucked without her.
Yes, Ryan could be sad sometimes. Yes, she could be a pain in the ass. Yes, she could be shy and quiet and distant and shut off. But not once did that ever make her not good enough. Never once did it effect the way that I looked at her because truth is, I did see her as if the sun shone out of her damn ass. I was obsessed with how perfect this girl was, wracking my brain over and over as to how she could like me of all people.
And then finally, later that day as I slumped back into my room, I'd happened to notice a stack of letters placed on my desk– the colorful envelopes slightly frayed and torn.
Peering upon them, I couldn't help my heart from nearly beating out of my chest as I took in her perfectly sculpted cursive letters. I noticed they were titled 'Letter One' and so on, leading down to letter 19.
I started to wonder if maybe she was the girl that my psychiatrist would tell me about. At the time, I thought this female could have been hypothetical, but staring at these now, I couldn't help but to wonder how I missed it.
There were so many signs.
"Niall, honey."
My mam's voice caught me off guard, causing my head to turn over my shoulder. My mother stood in the doorway of my room, a sorrowful look painted on her delicate face.
"I think you should save those for the morning. Try and get some rest, it's been a long day."
Nodding, I didn't say anything as I placed the stack of letters back onto my desk and stood to crawl into bed. My mam flipped off the lights, giving me one last look before she finally backed out and shut the door.
However, as I laid there that night, I felt restless and cold and broken. I felt numb to the pain, numb to the hurt, numb to the air, and just overall broken.
My eyes just stared straight ahead at the ceiling, yet not one thought crossed it. I could imagine her lying here next to me, and she'd probably be laughing about something or another, but not even those thoughts dared to enter my brain.
It was like my head was mentally blocking it all out. Blocking her out.
I didn't know how to feel about that, and that thought actually had me a little worried, so could you blame me for sitting up and turning on the light before grabbing the stacks of handwritten notes?
I just needed a peek.
I needed to hear her voice one last time.
I needed to dig into her thoughts.
"So... I guess I should start by saying hi, Niall."
And suddenly I didn't know when, or how, or even why I felt the tears falling down my cheeks, but there they were. Lost and empty, flooding down past my lips at the sight of my name on her folded up, slightly crinkled papers, appeared.
As much as I knew that I was going to miss her, I was happy to at least have had the chance to have a positive influence on her life. Well, at least enough to find comfort in my imaginary presence.
Glancing at the clock, I noticed that it was down to the last few minutes of this heartbreaking day. A day that would forever be a part of my best and worst past. But I also knew that maybe tomorrow wouldn't be a fresh breath of air, but one day, it would. So for today, it was time to start my journey of letting go because as hard as it was to accept, I couldn't change what Ryan did. But, that didn't mean that I couldn't give her one last closing statement for being the best part in my life.
Grabbing my journal from under the corner of my mattress, I grabbed the nearest pen that I could find and opened up to the very last page, letting my eyes soak in the ink as my heart soaked in the words. Words that would forever remain unchanged.
Letter 21
"I will always love you, Ryan."
-Niall 30/11/15 x.
