Anyway, have fun reading
Some wounds never heal.
And if they do, it always leaves a scar.
And if they do, it always leaves a scar.
Like when Luke died. He was only eighteen years old, but he had gone through more than someone of his age should.
It was not like we didn't see it coming. He had suffered from cancer for two years already, but it spread out only recently. We were prepared for this. Him, his parents, his brother and me, his girlfriend.
The day we met he was just discharged from the hospital and I had to get a vaccination for our trip to Morocco. We literally bumped into each other.
I didn't believe in love at first sight, up until then. It was like something exploded and covered us both with love.
His gray eyes were perfectly kind, his olive tanned skin the softest thing I had ever touched. His face was the most beautiful things I'd ever seen, and his brown hair seemed like it shined in the sunlight.
He smiled at me and apologized for not being careful, and I told him it didn't matter.
He showed me the correct way to the doctor I was seeing, and waited there for me. Our parents were clearly annoyed by us not wanting to say goodbye, but we couldn't care any less.
When we both finally left the hospital, our first date was set. We'd have dinner and then go to the beach, since it wasn't far away.
When we first kissed, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and he reassured me he was the happiest man as well. We have had a lot of dates after that, and all were just as perfect.
But he had to go to the hospital for treatment, and he couldn't hide the truth anymore. He was seriously ill, and there was no guarantee that he'd heal.
He didn't. A year after we met he died, and I wasn't even with him. But his parents were, and they knew how much we loved each other. They loved me, too. I realized that when they called me first. Not his grandparents, not any other family member. Me.
I recognized the number immediately and my heart skipped a beat at that very same moment. There was something wrong and I could feel it. I felt the aching in my chest when I answered the phone, and burst out in tears when they told me what had happened. I made my parents drive me to the hospital, without giving any explanation. I think they knew, though.
When we arrived at the building, I hesitated for a second. Did I really want to see him dead?
But I knew the answer before finishing the question and sprinted towards the elevator. I knew the way to his room by heart, but it wasn't hard to find it anyway, since there were doctors everywhere near his room.
They all left when I arrived, leaving me with his parents, giving us time to say our goodbyes.
They both cried. So did his brother, and so did I. I looked at him in tears, grabbed his hand and swore that I would never forget him. He was the most important thing in my life, even though his was already taken.
At his funeral we didn't play one sad song, and I sang. He heard me sing before once, and made me promise that if he'd die, I'd sing our song to him. It was romantic and we’d listened to it a thousand times.
But all that happened a year ago, and I'm turning eighteen myself tomorrow. There didn't pass a day that he didn’t cross my mind, but the physical pain of his loss has gone away. I remember how to smile again, how to be happy instead of acting so.
Vind ik altijd wel knap ^_^
Je hebt de emotie heel goed door het verhaal heen geweven!