• Don’t you dare stare up at me, with those cold blue eyes, a knowing glint reflecting in that blank, lifeless gaze. Don’t use those same eyes you had as we were kids, those same two mirrored holes that shined with laughter. Those same two pupils that peered at me with love, compassion, and comfort, don’t turn them on me with your now hazy look. Those frosty blue iris’ that turned solid when angry, flashing like the very lightening, dancing with rage as though there were a fire had disappeared. That teary, pitiful look that announced you were upset, with the water lining your lids, threatening to spill. Even that would have done than this empty, silent gaze. When you look at me like that, I feel as though you’re gone. You couldn’t be gone.

    Why is your mouth mimicking your eyes? Surely, even you would lie with those two pale pink lips. You always do, even when you were down, so why was now any different? Grin, smile, tell me your okay, form the vowels with your mouth, don’t let it just hang. Frown at me, like you use to do when I done something dumb. Tell me off like you did when annoyed. Move that mouth of yours, work your jaws! Shout and scream, laugh and cackle, cry and wail! Just do something. But no, those lips of yours just aren’t obedient. And hence, they sit, still and silent, emotionless, dead. But you’re still here. You couldn’t be gone.

    Your skin, oh how it was always fair. But as of now, it’s rather pale. Even when I lay my hand upon your cheek, the warmth in my palm flees, the cold that you radiate spreading contagiously. Perhaps you’re in need of a blanket? That’s all you need. It’s probably just the flu; you should be up in a few days. Your skin is flawless, as soft as wool and as smooth as snow. But there had always been that slight blush in your cheeks, as though constantly the wind was nipping at your skin. Now it’s just white, on the verge of a pale blue. Take off the makeup, you look dead. But you’re still here... You couldn’t be gone.

    Your clothes show emotion, more than yourself. It’s bright, spontaneous, yet elegant as well. It fits you just perfect, with neither length nor width problems. And yet, as I look once more, those perfect clothes are tainted. It’s a blue shirt, I knew that. I’ve seen you wear it plenty of times before. But I never recalled that dark red stain. Perhaps you decided it was to plain? I agree, it did, but why red? And why so much? It’s making a mess on the floor. Once you snap out of your stupor, you’ll surely realize your mistake and will clean up the mess. But again, why red? It makes you look dead. But you’re still here. You couldn’t be gone.

    Ah, you invited some friends over, right? But why aren’t you getting up to greet them? Why not? And why do they look so panicked, as though something tragic happened. Tell them. Tell them they’re being silly and send them on their way. I liked it with just the two of us. We were happy, in sync, united. We had our own little world and no one was allowed in. Now, they’re barricading their way into our bond, both mentally and physically. Hands grab at me, they fingers digging into me. It stings, tell them to stop. Protect me as you always had. They won’t stop. Why aren’t you holding on tight? I’m squeezing your hand, your cold, lonely hand, but you’re not responding. It feels as though I’m holding a dolls hand. They’re still yanking, still pulling. They’re killing you, can’t they see? I have to hold on or you’ll surely go. But they won’t listen to me, they just order me, both roughly and softly, telling me to let go. That’s not all their saying but I refuse to listen to the next part. Strong fingers pry at my hand. I meet your empty, lifeless, blue eyes, waiting for those motionless, cold lips to speak, to announce your okay. Nothing happens. My hand is pulled away painfully, and I’m carried away. I strain to look at you and smile weakly, though I taste salt on my tongue, my vision blurring. They say you’re dead. Can you believe it? They say you’re dead. But you weren’t. I could have saved you, right? If I had held your hand long enough, you would of finally snapped out of it and wake me up from this cruel nightmare. But they killed both you and the hope. And not only that, but I’m pretty sure my soul as well.

    You couldn't be gone.

    But, hence, you were.