Another You

I still wore the ring.

Family members told me to take it off and face reality. Others told me it was part of the grieving process. I thought that was a load of horse crap.

None of them had gone through what I had; what he had. I was even offered therapy to help me move on. I thought that was a load of horse crap.

No one understood. None of them had a fiancé in the military. None of them knew what it was like writing and receiving those letters. They all thought they had an idea, they thought they understood what I was going through. They thought they knew why I still wore the ring.

They were all wrong.

The funeral was to be held this upcoming Saturday. I didn't spend a cent. Neither did my family. The military did.

--


I stared myself down in the bathroom mirror. Hown long did this last? Would I ever really get over this? I didn't know. Everyone thought they knew.

"You'll get over it eventually," they told me. Would I? I doubted it.

I left the cold bathroom. Family and friends lingered about in the halls and rooms of this grand church. I felt their stares of pity follow me wherever I went. I couldn't escape; I couldn't breathe.

I stepped outside onto the rain soaked steps of the Catholic Church. I wasn't Catholic. He wasn't Catholic. My mother was.

The burial was hard. Everyone cried; none of them cried like I did. They were loud criers; I was silent.

I placed my single white rose on top of every single red rose. Why was mine a different color? I liked red far better than white.

I turned away from his coffin and walked back up to the church. My mother was waiting for me, her eyes full of pity. My father stared me down grimly as I approached their car. He always stared at me like that. She always seemed like she cared; she never did.

I told them I needed some space before we left. I walked back into the church, seeing friends and family lingering in the halls and rooms again. Except this time I saw a few unfamiliar faces. They all met my gaze. None of them pitied me.

"Are you his fiancé?" It was a simple question. It made me cry.

"Yes, I am," I said quietly.

"We're sorry. It must be tough. I'm Austin, " he said. He offered me his hand, and I shook it.

"My name's Lily," I told him. He smiled wide at me. I liked his smile.

We chatted for a while until my mother came looking for me. She tore me away from Austin; I thought that was rude.

--

My parents dropped me off at my house. I went through the process of getting ready for bed, my head hitting the pillow not long after.

I still had his last letter on my nightstand.

Notes

Hello. If you're wordering why there's so many short, choppy sentences in this, I did it on purpose, don't worry. Enjoy :)