I May Have Said Goodbye, But You Will Always Be A Part Of Me
Today would have been your 18th birthday, so from the bottom of my heart, happy birthday.
It has been three years; three years of tear-smudged black eyes and endless heartache over that one life-shattering moment. You see, after you were gone I felt empty. I didn’t cry; as ashamed as I am to admit that no matter how guilty I felt that I had not spilled one drop from my dried up tear ducts and no matter how hard I tried to push myself to cry for you, to weep rivers for your death…I just, simply, couldn’t.
Not until the day when I returned to a place, those halls did not only echo memories of you, they screamed flashing images of wrongly, dyed-orange hair and happy laughter, a laughter I would never hear again. A place that was happy… How was I to know? That, that would be where you were happiest. But when I sat in that hall and images of you zoomed past me, when a poem I wrote about how you may be gone but I would cherish your memory forever, was spoken from another person’s lips…My dried up ducts; my strong barrier; my protective armor- they all failed me. In a flash, I was shattered and broken… and you were gone. You were, really, actually, gone.
“Move on.”
“It’s been three years, shouldn’t you leave her in the past?”
No, I am sorry, I cannot forget the girl who for years convinced me that I was worthy of so much more than to stick my own fingers down my throat, and spill my sins into toilets. The girl who saw my scars and never took pity on me and never showered me with fake sympathetic-understanding. This is the girl who was part of my childhood, who my earliest memories with are at age four. This is the girl who is and always will be a part of me.
Today would have been your 18th birthday, so from the bottom of my heart, happy birthday. I miss you. I love you. I hope you can forgive us. I know that you are the most joyous angel of them all. And, you should know, that whenever I see a semicolon or the number 23; whenever I hear “Sweet Caroline” or “C’mon Eileen”; whenever I taste mint in chocolate cakes or I get called a Diva… I hear your laugh, ringing through my head; and wish for the day where I can hear it again.
Love always,
Your Daksie Diva 
