The Day You Went Away.

Matt, as I cuddle into my pillow, I think of you.The way your arms held me, the way you'd smile and the blue in your eyes seemed to be the only color I could see. Are they dull, now? Will the coffin deteriorate? How long before you do?

I think of your tattoos, how the less your band was played on the radio, the more tattoos you'd got. I loved the teasing factor that the leaves on your neck had as they peeked out of your shirt. I always wanted to take off your shirt, just trace the pattern. You should have worn button up shirts more often, now you're eternally stuck in one. But your favorite shirt is underneath. I creeped in before the funeral and put it on underneath the shirt. I knew you'd hate it, being buried in the suit that they chose out for you. You'd say how you would look like the biggest douche bag before laughing and I'd nod. Derek would probably make some sarcastic comment and then we'd all laugh again.

Will the shirt decompose after you? Will you become lined within it?

I recall watching you play your guitars. You loved guitars, you always had. Anyone could tell when they watched you play, you always had so much fun and when it came to songs you truly loved, you'd play with this intense manner, a focused look on your face that couldn't be shifted no matter what anyone said, until the song was over. I remember your mother telling me how you used to annoy her, playing at hours of the night when you couldn't get to sleep and she needed to work and she'd scream at you to turn it down, and you'd smile meekly up at her and telling her you were living out your dream before plugging your headphones into the amp.

Your sister was at the funeral with her. I always liked your sister, she made me feel like I belonged with you and your family. We all sat together, we didn't cry until your favorite guitar was placed in front of the coffin. Then, I think, and only then, did it truly hit us that you were gone. We held onto each other, dismissing every tissue that was offered, choosing to let our grief show. I wonder if you watched us and cried with us, or if you laughed because we wimped out.

I bet you laughed.

It's been a week since the accident, the accident that took you away from us. I don't know how you got stuck on those train lines. I want to think of it as an accidental death, because I don't know what I would do if the police told me it was suicide. Well, I suppose I do. I'd deny it, say you were happy, the happiest you'd ever been. You hadn't stopped smiling for the past two weeks, I'd say and tell them they were wrong. Tell them over and over they were wrong, it wasn't suicide, it could never have been suicide. I loved you too much, and I'm positive you loved me. Love can stop all, right?

But can it stop death from coming? Can it delay it? Why didn't it, for us?

I'm squeezing the pillow tighter. My eyes close and the memory of our first kiss flashes behind my eyelids. You'd already kissed five girls, or so I'd overheard. I'd only ever kissed one boy, and that was in primary school when I was forced down by the school bully. His was sloppy and careless, ours was delicate and soft. You made me feel so special, like I was the only one you'd ever want to kiss. The look you gave me when you lent down to kiss me, I can't even begin to describe it. All I know is that my eyes were watching yours the whole time and the butterflies in my stomach were fighting to get out and exploded when your lips pressed delicately against mine. I wanted to stay there forever, I still do. I wish I had some means to go back to that day and just, put the scene on repeat or pause it at that exact moment so that I could just...live forever in that moment. Not have to think about what happened to you.

But luck or opportunity was never one for us, was it?

Remember when you went on tour, that same afternoon of our kiss. I smiled as I waved you and the boys goodbye, but inside I was dying. When I got home, I locked myself away and flung myself onto my bed. I stared at the photo I had of you before blue-tacking it to my ceiling. I changed it at night so that I slept next to you, letting your eyes watch me as I slumbered. The months you were away nearly killed me, but your e-mails and constant calls and random messages to say you loved me kept me alive. They were like oxygen for me in that small period of time. I savored everything you sent me.

I listened to nothing during those months. Every time I heard someone sing, or a guitar or drum being played I fazed out. It took a while for me to surface back, but thankfully my friends at school understood. Even my boss understood. I think they all knew what effect you'd had on me since we met, even if I hadn't realized it at first.

At your funeral, fans turned up. Girls and boys, young children that would've been only just in high school. Grown up kids, into their 20's, all wearing black arm bands and the band shirt. They stood silently outside. Some cried, some gave your family and I roses and letters, others stood there, looking as numb as I had felt when I found out. I hugged each one that approached us, knowing they'd respected you as much as those who knew you had. I cried with some and thanked others. They dispersed once the hearse carrying your coffin left for the burial grounds. Some stayed, and I watched as they brought out candles from their backpacks. I came back once it got dark, and they had held a silent candle vigil for you. I stayed with them, but by the end I had realized no tears would come. I'd gotten rid of them all, and this made me sadder.

You were buried next to your grandpa and father, your plaque read your name and date of birth, as well as the date you died. It had a picture of a rose above your name, and underneath the dates it read, 'Kind brother, loving son and caring lover whose name shall live on forever more'. I'd wanted a treble clef as the picture, but in the end I decided not to argue your family's decision. We'd need to stick together in this situation, and I didn't want to start any fights that might grow to become poison.

I prayed for you that day. I prayed that you hadn't suffered, that it was quick and painless. I prayed that you would go to Heaven, or wherever it was we went after we'd passed on. I prayed you would watch us, that I'd always feel you with me. As your casket was lowered, the sounds of the machine lowering it down upset me. You were truly gone, and there was no chance you could ever come back. I threw a lily down to you and the priest scattered the dirt over before we departed and the groundskeeper started to throw down the dirt to bury you, to hide you forever in the ground. I lent down and sat near the edge, watching the dirt slam consistently onto your new shelter. The grounds keeper's pace was steady and the rhythmic slam-slam-slam which eventually turned to a soft, dull sound lulled me into the numbness again.

I stayed long after the groundskeeper had finished, thanking him for his hard work but staring down at the brown patch where you lay under. I laid across the dirt, drawing soft patterns into it like you did on my side when we hugged or kissed, or when we sat together doing whatever, regardless of who was with us at the time. I eventually fell asleep and woke up to your sister softly nudging my shoulder, smiling sympathetically at me as I slowly woke up. The sun was beginning to set and the color of the sky was that of blood, purple hues and tinges of orange blended throughout. You were wearing a purple shirt that day, and when I went with your sister to identify your body, the blood was still caked onto your skin.

Had they cleaned it up, even after the examination? Did they have to cut open your ribcage like they did on the crime shows? I thought back to when I put the shirt onto you and realized that the T stitching was there. I felt sick and leaned against your sister for support. We held each other up, and we went to the candle light vigil together. She cried to see the kids still there, with some more of their friends and new people standing there. We walked through the crowd, hugging them all like I had in the morning. But now, I didn't look into their eyes, for all I saw was you reflected in them.

It felt like you were mocking me, Matt. You were dead, wasn't that enough pain for me to overcome?

As we slowly got to the front of the crowd, I saw the small shroud they'd had at the entrance to the church. Flowers, photos of you and the band, photos with you and some of the kids there tonight, messages of respect and love, and the most common one: sadness. They'd all miss you as much as I did.

I sat down at the front and looked into one of the photos. I had the one with me that I'd blue-tacked onto my walls while you were away, and I took it out. I studied it, ran my fingers over every mark and scratch and piece of dirt or piercing or tattoo that you'd had and held it to my chest. Finally, I got up and placed it in amongst a bunch of flowers. Your sister stood to the side, looking at the shroud with an expression I couldn't recognize. I lightly placed my hand on her arm, signaling the time for our departure. She nodded and we turned and left together, she drove us home. As we drove home, we passed the tracks that you were - that you left us by.

As we turned away from it, I could have sworn I saw you wave towards the car and smile before briefly disappearing. I waved towards you and whispered that I loved you before turning around to the front.

I dreamed of you that night. I dreamed we met at a vacant park and you pushed me on a swing. In my dream, time didn't move. There were no sunsets, no night times and no sunrise. It was as though it was constantly midday. We didn't speak, though, you only pushed me. Just as I started to wake, I saw you lying next to me and holding me in your arms. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, you were gone. I wish I had stayed asleep, because at least in my dreams I was with you.

I've missed and will forever miss you, because I know that no amount of dreaming can bring you back. I'll love you forever, Matt. For forever and a day.