A Letter to a Soul

This is an entry for the John Green TFiOS Writing Contest, sort of like an unpublished ending written from Hazel Grace's point of view. I was lucky enough to place third (ASRDFTGHGHBTRKNMNJK WHAT), so thank you to everyone who's read it, commented, and liked! It really means a lot to me, feel free to leave constructive criticism in the comments!

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1. The Only Thing I Have to Say

 

I don’t like writing. Well, no. I don’t like the idea of other human beings reading what I write. It’s as if I’m scooping out my insides and laying them out on a table and screaming “THIS IS WHAT I’M FEELING OKAY NOW LOOK AT IT.” The thought of that makes me want to lock myself in a closet and die. The reason I am quiet is because I am selfish and if I start talking my opinions will trip out of my mouth and tangle everyone in them and I won’t be able to stop. But I must write. It is the only way to stop myself from becoming the very thing I promised I would never be.

                After you died, I couldn’t sleep for days. I was in love with you, you have to understand that. My body racked with sobs every night, silent ones, violent-shaking, head-hurting, arms-tight-over-my-stomach silent ones. I could not contain them, but soon enough I didn’t have to. For I am stuck in a body that can only carry so many tears.  My eyes were dry, but my thoughts still tangled themselves into pictures that would send me straight to some mental hospital if they somehow appeared on paper.

                The thing is, if you stay locked inside yourself for too long, your brain needs to find a way to let some of those thoughts out. As soon as I began sleeping again, my brain that had never dreamt before began to have nightmares. But they were not only nightmares, no, they were much more than that. It was you. Every night, you lay in that room, a caged animal desperately roaring for help. But the door was locked, surely you must understand that. I was locked out, fists pounding, bleeding, breaking. Every night you died, and your parents flew out of that room as if they had wings, and they flew away, farther than we did when you were still alive, and I could still hear their cries when I woke up, crying and not knowing whether I was dreaming or if you were still truly gone. You died every night, and each time a piece of me died with you. If I keep this up, I will be as lifeless as you are pretty soon.

                Your ghost tries to comfort me. But your hands are so cold, oh so cold. I try to catch your scent, and you are closer than you have ever been, yet you are not a person anymore. Your freezing fingers get tangled in my hair, but all my rememberies have fallen silent. I cannot recall who we used to be, as your words died with you. I am a walking reflection of you, a shattered mirror trying to reflect who I used to be. But the pieces are broken, they have fallen somewhere along the way. The fragments of my life are spread out, like those spots on your back that you just can’t reach, although you’re only a few inches away. I can still catch your scent sometimes, in those moments when I wake up screaming and crying those impossibly dry tears. In those times when my parents run in, as they do every night, and you cradle me and tell me it’s alright. But they cannot see you. They are blinded.

                I miss you. The sun does not rise anymore. I am stuck in a universe that is missing its stars. Your ghost self is not enough. I miss your silence in the spaces between sentences, the sound that you make as you crack your fingers. I miss flying with you, feeling timeless, ageless, as if we might live forever. I miss you like the morning dew misses the sun, waiting for it to pick it up so it may rise up and forget about everything that came before. And I miss your presence. I miss you simply being here, watching with those eyes that made you seem like the innocent young boy that you still were. I miss talking to you, about things that I never would have said otherwise. I miss your spur-of-the-moment decisions, your philosophical moments, your crooked gait, your smile that could take me away from everything for just a few seconds. I wish you would still be here, for you made my foolish mistakes seem like the best mistakes that could possibly be made. I wish life did not end. But then life would not have a purpose, would it? I wish I did not have to stay up at night, silently screaming, wishing for things that could never happen. But the world is not a wish granting factory.

                

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