"God, I beg of you, please give me the strength to walk away."
I was an ordinary teenager. There's nothing wrong with me. My grades are average. Never done anything illegal. Not related to anyone who has ever done anything illegal that I know of. I never sang of profanity on my guitar, nor have I ever thought of doing so. But they still took him away.
And I had spent my time for the past week writing a song that he'll never hear. His requiem. My requiem. Our requiem.
It happened too fast, so fast, that when I opened my eyes, his eyes were dying, and he let out his last breath with his last words, and I couldn't even touch him, he was already so far, far, far away, tears streaming down his perfect cheek, so far away, so out of my loving touch, my healing touch, pain, agonizing pain, a face I couldn't recognize, a smile, and blank looks, my first love, my only love, the hand, the HAND- oh God.
The muddy grass met my knees, as I stared at the gravestone: Matthew Weatherson. Born March 19, 1992 ~ Died December 31, 2009. He was only seventeen. A loving son, and friend. I pounded my fist into the ground. I guess he never told his parents, I thought, as I scratched, "lover," onto the cold gray stone. Not just anyone's though, Matt was mine, and had ALWAYS been mine.
I have no one to blame for this. Matt was driving too fast, typical Matt, and some idiot had run the last minute yellow light. So either way, it was Matt's fault for going too fast, and it was the other driver's fault for running it. But that driver had lived. I lived. Matt had died.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Tears rolled off my face. The motion was as icy as the weather. My hand was still touching the stone painfully, dragging my warm palm down the cruel flat, yet rough, surface.
This was Matthew. My Matthew. This was him now, when only a mere fortnight, only two weeks, ago, he was holding me, kissing me, loving me. Now he was underneath my legs, and he was in a such a sweet, sweet eternal sleep. What's worse is that I never got to see him after he died in front my eyes: they left the casket closed. I was so tempted to run down the isle and tear open the lid that my annoying little brother's voice was only thing keeping me from going out my mind.
"Mia, we have to move, or else people are gonna get mad."
I had looked at him, and just moved along with the flow of people. It led me to the front, where Mrs. Weatherson was crying her pretty green eyes out.
"Matthew, Matthew-"
His father just looked at me, the same blank look had given Jon, and said to Mrs. Weatherson, "Phobe, Mia's here." He pointed at me, and Jon. The woman looked at me, and a look of hurt washed over me. The woman was even more of a wreck than I was.
The puffy eyes distracted me as she had touched my exposed arm. The touch lingered, and I held my breath. "Oh Mia," she motioned to her, "Mia."
I leaned in for her tight embrace as she had cried, and cried, and cried.
"I can't believe he's dead," Mrs. Weatherson sobbed, "God, he loved you so much." Her hug got tighter as I gripped the back of her shawl. Her blonde hair tangled into my brown. "So much."
The hug had almost choked me, but I didn't say anything to her; she considered me her daughter, second only to her real daughter, Justine, who couldn't come to her own little brother's funeral since she was in England, studying abroad. And I loved her like a second mother. I had known her for too long to think otherwise.
She let me go, and let Jon and I sit next to them as the ceremony started.
That was a little over a week ago. And now, here I am, visiting the grave for the very first time alone. I really wish I had brought Jon with me. He would have at least gotten me to take him home, and away from here, where I could cry for hours.
I could see Matt's brown eyes right now, blond hair, and all of his little freckles. He was my opposite, my other half. I have green eyes, brown hair, and my skin is blank. All the more reason to say I lost a part of me when he died in that car accident- he was me, I was him. And now he's gone.
I took the lined paper out of my hoodie's pock, and unfolded its messy creases. I had written the song over a few days, wanting it to be perfect: just like he was. And though it wasn't completely there, it was the best I could do.
I coughed, wiping my nose on my sleeve, albeit disgusting, I didn't care. "M-Matt?" I stood, backing up a bit as if I was giving him room to get up out of the grave. No answer, of course, but I continued like he had answered. "Matt, it's me, Mia."
I moved my fingers on the paper, making small creakling noises. I looked down in shame. "Look, I know it's been a while, and I know it's late, but I wanted this to be absolutely the best thing I had ever written, because you know, it's you, and-
"Great, I'm rambling again." Usually Matt stopped me at this point. Habit I guess.
I glanced at the stone beside him. "Matt, you've always told me you wanted me to write a song for you, and I always promised I would. But it's kinda obvious I never got to writing one... I... I just thought we had time, you know?"
I placed the paper onto the grave, and backed up again. "I finished it, Matt. All for you." I smiled, and said, "I'll always love you, you hear me? Always." I began taking steps backwards until I turned, and walked towards my car.
Last First
By Mia Knight
How fleeting the snow can be,
Sitting on a pale face.
Clear brown eyes, matching blue skies,
A cloud with a silver lining,
Tears like rain on the floor.
Now the rain and the snow are gone,
Clear brown eyes matching dead brown lies,
And all is left is whatever is last.
Been together for so long,
I thought time would give us forever.
The world loved you as much as I,
And sometimes time wants its share.
Chorus:
You were my firstly my last,
And lastly my first.
You left behind tracks in the snow,
Knowing I'll soon follow.
I'll let you go first,
If you let me go last.
You and I will have forever together,
Snow and rain, water the same,
And I'll follow your tracks.
Just call me your First,
Pain never lasts.
My first in the summer,
But as winter falls,
My last in the spring.
And as I write this requiem,
It will never be the same,
On long summer days,
In cold winter night,
 Ukeire · Sat Feb 28, 2009 @ 02:54am · 0 Comments |
