Sharon & Rose

 

‘I cut myself today’

this is the first thing this girl has said to me in two months

she went on her ‘people break’, trust me no one has access.

With my eyes, I beg her to tell me it’s a lie

but my words, they do not conform

my actions scream nonchalance

swiftly like the hare, she changes the topic

it was the last time such was mentioned.

It was the last time she ever looked happy.

 

Today, at her Funeral

I was asked to say something about Rose,

Obviously, they wanted me to say something nice about her

I searched my heart, and I searched my mind.

And this is it;

The first time I met Rose, it was at night

I bumped into her, and she into me- we both did the bumping now that I think of it,

But then? It was her to me, and to her it was me. You get?

The second time, I heard someone laughing so loud I cringed

It was her, I stared at her, trying to communicate with my eyes- that she was being noisy,

She walked up to me and said “use your words, it passes your message across faster”

And she walked away.

The third time sealed our friendship, nothing particular happened, she just slowly became one of those girls that I knew and from then we became friends.

When I think about Rose now; she had such an amazing laugh, those ones that light up your world, drenched in sincerity. She didn’t laugh if it wasn’t funny. I liked that she always laughed with me.

Rose was centered, she was assertive, if she didn’t want it, she wasn’t going to get it.

Rose was sad, I always assumed it was school, or just one of those days you have, you know, where everything was overwhelming.

She was always happy. Strange right? She was able to mix being so sad and so happy, the way red and yellow would give you orange, and you wouldn’t even know they were once separate colours.

She did everything so well, I wanted to be like her so much.

 

I keep backtracking in my mind, to the day she told me that she cut.

I want to know why

I want to take her pain for her

I want to explain the choices to her

I need to ask, if she knew that she could be happy.

Mostly, I want to understand.

I crave to understand.

I’m soaked with guilt, drowning in grief.

Maybe I didn’t show her enough love

Did she know that I would be hurt?

Did she think I didn’t care?