I held your hand as you floated away from the earth, leaving me alone. I slid my pain into my pocket and placed that old mask on my face. Nobody will see that again. The air is thick with loss and my guilt is like swallowing grit as I climb out of the hole I dug myself into. The world will never be the same again, the trees slump down, decaying slowly, just like all living organisms. We decay, our skin greys, and all that is left to say is goodbye. We lose and lose and lose until there is nothing left to lose bar ourselves, drifting on a plank of plywood waterlogged and with a shelf life that eventually means that the vast ocean of death will take us as casually as life gave us. We are not our own, this idea of possession and freedom is concepts only the human mind can foretell, concepts that don’t exist anywhere else. We cannot control where we go, if we go, and especially not when we go. We stick like glue to the things we think will save us, we are but caught flies stuck to webs - we will inevitably be consumed by something bigger and scarier than us. The sickly sweet scent of your blood lingering on my face and hands, and staining my clothes as you fade away. Your eyes are dark and all I see is the person I could’ve been if you had just stuck around a little longer. You gave up, and for that I blame you, but for everything else I blame myself and I blame the world. Forgiveness will never be attained because yours is the only I desire, and now even that is lost in this world and the next. Who knows when and if we will meet next. We pass like clouds on a windy day, we are perceived but not appreciated until we leave. Our tears fall just as rain does and it is just as inconvenient for everyone else but ourselves. We leave puddles of pain around our lives waiting for someone to step through it, or for the sunshine to finally make its appearance and dry away all the flooding caused. Leaves fall one by one, and I am reminded of you, as you fell. Just like in autumn, your colour faded and you were not the vibrant love I used to know. You had been dried out of your passion and life, now just a decaying shell splayed out on the ground for someone to find and clean away. The busy roads above us conceals the brief sobs I endure as I turn away from you one final time. The grime under my fingernails today reminds me of the times we’d go digging for treasure as children, and I suddenly think of all the reasons you were smarter, stronger, better than I will ever be. Why was it you who had to go? The world would have been better off if it had been me. Your bright beauty and intense intellect would have added to the world a force that couldn’t be bested. You were a genius if I’d ever seen one. You were a natural leader like you were born to be the head of the flock leading the rest of us to warmer grounds during the winter seasons. And yet here I stood, in your place, clueless of what to do - where to go - next. My heart pounds against my chest as I step further and further away; evidence that I can live on without you, but I do not want to. All I can think of is how lovely it would be to hear your laugh again and to see you smile as the wind dances with our hair and the night starts to settle in. I never thought it would be me who walked away first, me who was the last man standing, me who shut the lid on your box. My pain blazes brightly like a shooting star in the clearest of skies - people see it and adore its beauty, but would avoid contact with it as they know how it could hurt them too. You were always the one who held on for dear life, burning your hands from holding on for so long that when you finally let go, your skin was red raw, peeling at the tips of your fingers, and all you said was “I’m glad you’re better now”.