31 Days of Amelia

Day 4: Moments Ago

Day 4.        In a church.

I could say that everyone was dressed in black, that there were people there crying for you, missing you, that there were flowers everywhere, a preacher (or whatever they’re called), a choir, and a thousand cars outside, for all the people inside, and that the Prime Minister was there to see you off.

Lately, I’ve been extremely sarcastic, so you can tell that it wasn’t like that.

I was the only one there. I was wearing my nicest dress (white with black birds) and my nicest coat (that is black). I had no flowers, and there was no one there except for a very quiet, very old man (I thought he was dead- like you- when I first walked in).

I guess I was supposed to sit there and mourn. But you can’t mourn when you can’t fully appreciate that the love of your life is dead; I was still in shock. I, even now, hate that I wasn’t able to mourn properly. I, of course, blame myself; if I hadn’t been shock for so bloody long then it wouldn’t have been a problem. I can’t even call you the one that got away, because, in my mind, you never got away. You just went away. You didn’t get away, or slip through my fingers (I’m not really good at explaining these sort of things. You should know that).

So I sat at that funeral of yours for hours. Days. Years. In fact, I should be there right now, seeing as how I’m thinking of you. Which is mourning (it is, right?). And that old man kept sleeping. And all the while I was thinking about how it wasn’t fair. I couldn’t even understand your death, and you were dead, and I was still remembering the things that happened Monday, and it was Thursday, and everything was just too much.

I really should just calm down. Just stop. But I can’t. Because now that I can fully realize my loss, I feel like I a skipped a step. From having you to mourning a year later.

I still remember Monday.

You kissed me, and that damn Polaroid of Lena’s flashed so brightly that when we pulled apart, I felt like a dazed rabbit, and couldn’t see the expression on your face. So I stood there, blinking for a few moments, as spots danced in front of me. I could hear you laughing, and, when I regained my sight, I saw your smile. I smiled back, and you kissed me on the nose. And that bloody camera went off again.

“What. Is it with you and that camera!” Lena’s laugh could be heard, but (sadly) I couldn’t see her face well enough to slap it.

“I’m going to marry it one day!”

“I’m sure you bloody will. I hope it blinds you at the altar.”

“’Melia!”

“Hey, it’s only fair. Think of all the pain it’s put me through, woman.” Harry joined in on the laughter this time, and Mills too. I glared at them all before leaning back into you. Your chest was rumbling from your own chuckles, but I ignored it.

And I still remember every other day before that, and every day after that, to the point, that, when I close my eyes, all I see is you, or Lena, or Harry, or Mills. Sometimes I wish that I was that old man: oblivious and ignorant to his surroundings.

“’Melia…” I ignored Harry’s hand on my shoulder as I walked past his flat. “Amelia, wait!” I pulled my coat around myself and kept walking, but Harry was stronger than me, and forced me to turn around. “Amelia, we’re worried.”

“Yeah?” I scoffed. “What ‘bout? I’m fine.” Harry shook his head.

“No, you’re not. You’ve been quiet since…” Harry couldn’t say it. Mills couldn’t say it. Lena wouldn’t say anything, and was holed up in her basement, messing with her arsenal of cameras. Lord knows what she was plotting down there. But I… I could say it.