The Last Goodbye
By BloodRose
She didn’t remember how she got to the front of the room. Her legs had carried her, but her mind was somewhere else—adrift in the before, lost in the unbearable now. He lay there—too still, too quiet. A silence so sharp it pierced through the noise of sobs and whispered prayers.
She stood over him, trembling, fists clenched at her sides. The tears had started quietly, but now they poured without mercy—heavy, messy, unstoppable. A cry burst from her chest, rough and ragged, the kind that makes people flinch. The snort that followed made her feel small, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about dignity. This was grief in its most brutal form—raw, wild, unfiltered.
It didn’t look like him. Not really. His warmth was gone. The crooked smile that used to break across his face like sunrise was nowhere to be found.
He used to grab her hand in the middle of traffic like it was instinct, like touching her made the world safer. He’d whisper “I love you” in the most mundane moments, as if love were breath and he needed to say it to survive.
Now all of that—every laugh, every kiss, every unspoken promise—was gone. The life they had planned together shattered the moment his heart stopped beating.
Her knees gave out beneath her, and someone rushed forward to catch her, but she waved them off. This pain, this devastation—it was hers to feel. It was the last thing tethering her to him. This heartbreak was sacred. It was the cost of having loved him completely.
“This isn’t fair,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, her throat tight. “You promised me forever.”
No response. Only stillness. Only silence.
But in that silence, something stirred—not sound, not voice, but memory. A feeling. A presence.
His hand in hers. His breath on her skin. His laugh echoing in her bones.
"I’m still here," she could almost hear. "Just not the way you wanted."
And somehow, in that hollow ache, she managed to close her eyes… and believe it.
Because if love could survive death, then maybe—just maybe—so could she.
She stood over him, trembling, fists clenched at her sides. The tears had started quietly, but now they poured without mercy—heavy, messy, unstoppable. A cry burst from her chest, rough and ragged, the kind that makes people flinch. The snort that followed made her feel small, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about dignity. This was grief in its most brutal form—raw, wild, unfiltered.
It didn’t look like him. Not really. His warmth was gone. The crooked smile that used to break across his face like sunrise was nowhere to be found.
He used to grab her hand in the middle of traffic like it was instinct, like touching her made the world safer. He’d whisper “I love you” in the most mundane moments, as if love were breath and he needed to say it to survive.
Now all of that—every laugh, every kiss, every unspoken promise—was gone. The life they had planned together shattered the moment his heart stopped beating.
Her knees gave out beneath her, and someone rushed forward to catch her, but she waved them off. This pain, this devastation—it was hers to feel. It was the last thing tethering her to him. This heartbreak was sacred. It was the cost of having loved him completely.
“This isn’t fair,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, her throat tight. “You promised me forever.”
No response. Only stillness. Only silence.
But in that silence, something stirred—not sound, not voice, but memory. A feeling. A presence.
His hand in hers. His breath on her skin. His laugh echoing in her bones.
"I’m still here," she could almost hear. "Just not the way you wanted."
And somehow, in that hollow ache, she managed to close her eyes… and believe it.
Because if love could survive death, then maybe—just maybe—so could she.
