She couldn’t bear to look in his direction. No not like this; not after the months it took to assess herself. His face seemed pale but somehow managed to display his beauty, his masculinity. The past is my past. You are my past. She reminded herself silently, her heart aching of pain emerged from images in her mind. He strode with grace towards her, tagging along all that she once loved and knew. Remembering his soft touch as his hands shook from his sides, the feel of his lips as he blessed them with the spit from within his mouth. The past is still . . . “Hi gorgeous. Where have you been hiding?” His words hit home as her heart sank beneath her. Because words failed, she stood solemnly in front of him, her lips pierced shut. Unable to withhold all that she felt, she lurched out to grab him; to hold him but fell into nothing. He was not there. The past is still my past because you left me to go to heaven and I miss you so much. Tears welled and fell as she glanced again only to see a picture of him posted on a wall.
Rest In Peace.