Crankgameplays Imagines

Gone #2

~ Ethan's POV ~

As soon as I got to Maine, more memories of our four year relationship haunted me, constantly. Everywhere I looked, I saw her. There were times I saw her so vividly that my mind convinced me she was really there, smiling at me, as a way to ease the pain. Though the visions and flashbacks of her served as a sort of anaesthetic to my pain, as soon as the bitter reality returned to me, they caused me more pain than I thought possible.

My mom met me at the front door of my family home, she had dark bags under her eyes, tears rolling down her pale, still stunned face. She pulled me into a hug and burst into tears, calling the attention of my older brother and my dad to come out from the living room and help me comfort her, while they struggled to greet me in these circumstances. A shoebox was handed to me by my father with shaking hands, a box with my name on it, written in handwriting that I recognised immediately. I didnt have it in me to open it then, and honestly I dont know when I ever will have the strength to open it and see what (Y/N) left behind for me.

Now, Im standing at the foot of her coffin, staring at the picture of her placed on top of it, with blue roses surrounding it. Her favourite flower. It perfectly suited the blue hair that she had since she was 14, she was the reason I decided on the colour blue when it came to dyeing my own hair years later. At our prom, (Y/N) gave me a fake blue rose to pin to my suit, so that we co-ordinated in some way. I hear a shocked gasp from a few feet away from me, tearing me from my thoughts. Turning my head, I see (Y/N)'s parents watching me, her father holding her mother's shoulders as she points at my hair, with tear filled eyes. Blue, just like hers. I approach her parents and her mother collapses into me. None of us say anything, we dont need to, and we wouldnt know what to say even if we did. But I dont cry. Why cant I cry? This is the lowest I've ever felt in my entire life, because someone who was always there, someone who was just a part of my life, a foundation person, someone I could rely and depend on, someone I could trust, someone I could love...she's gone.

Her mother's broken words are the only part of the service I hear. She stands at the head of the coffin, speaking to all of us sat on chairs on the grass, surrounding the girl we all love in some way. Love, not loved. Love is one thing that shouldnt change tense when someone leaves. She tells us memories of her daughter, her little (Y/N), a lot of them involving me. Because (Y/N) and I werent just in a relationship for four years, we were childhood friends for a long time before that, all our lives even. Our parents have been friends since high school, so naturally, when (Y/N) and I were born, they visited each other often to give us time to become friends too. We were the best of friends until we were 14, when I realised that I was undoubtedly head over heels in love with her, and I asked her out. We dated until we were 18, when we made the mutual decision to put a stop to our relationship, because we both had such different career paths. There was no disliking towards each other to cause our breakup, neither of us hurt the other, and there were no hard feelings afterwards. What we did, the decision we made, it was out of love, and no love with anyone else has every come close to that, which is why no other relationship I've had has ever lasted. We had plans to reunite in a few years time, see where we were both at in our lives, and try to rekindle the love that we knew we would always have. It would happen as soon as we saw each other, we knew that, there was no doubting it. Our love was eternal, it still is, and it always will be, we just wont get the chance to experience it together again.

The rest of the service passes in a painful blur, filled with the murmurs of people around me, and different guests getting up to say their piece about (Y/N). Her parents didnt ask me to say anything, because they knew, they could see what this has done to me, and how I havent even begun to process what this really means yet. I hear voices speaking, but not the words, it all sounds so distant and incoherent, like Im underwater and everyone else is talking above the surface. My eyes stare longingly at the coffin, at her smiling face in the framed photograph. Memories of her smile flash through my mind, giving me new wounds with every variation of the same expression. This hurts too much.