It seems now that you're so different. A good different or bad- I don't know. I never even dreamed of you being gone. Or am I the one that is gone? It's only been a few months.. I still see the dead roses. The eight dead roses that are hidden deep in a small room in my closet. Every month from that day, I count them as the tears come pouring from my eyes. I still can hear you telling me why eight. "For the eight letters that come into my head when you appear." you one told me. Still to this day I don't know them, those eight letters.. I asked all your friends if they knew. They looked at me and laughed. Never did I like your friends, but you were different.. Special.. unique.. loving. You always said "I love you" to me. As these months pass by, I try to think on the letters. But one day, the eighth month that you've been gone, I went to my closet and took out your eight dead roses. I look hard into them. And just when I've lost in all hope that I'd never find out, I do. The last thing you said to be before getting on that train was, "I love you." I think to my self, "I.l.o.v.e.y.o.u. That's it! The eight dead roses ment I love you!". Now that I've realized that each rose ment a letter spelling I love you, I blame myself for the loss of you. I never answered your question in the last few minuets you had. "I love you forever, do you love me sweetheart?" echoed in my head.
8/25/2003
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