Living Without Her

Crimson Echo Dixon is now 23 years old. She was 17 when her girlfriend, Lana Jane Parks, was severely burned in a house fire and died a day later. Everyday, she thinks about her. Crimson wonders if she'll ever let Lana go.

This is Crimson's life, and it still feels like Lana is in control.

This is the sequel to "My Angel".

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2. Breathing In February

It's February 23 today. It's been six years since her heart stopped beating and her eyes closed forever. She died when I went home and slept in my own bed for the first time in two days. Mother let me get up and get dressed and pour a bowl of cereal before she told me. It was about 4:30 when she left me. They wait four and a half hours. I locked myself in my room and cried for the next three days. If only I had stayed in there with her I kept thinking. I shouldn't of listened to Lana. I should of stayed there and held her hand. Maybe then she'd still be alive.

Everyone keeps trying to tell me that even if I would of stayed, her body was charred and broken; there was nothing I could do about it.

Her resting place is an hour's drive, but I make it every year. When I still lived in town, I used to go there daily, then weekly. My parents stopped me and made me go only month because they said I was "addicted to sadness".

No, only addicting to her.

I stop a flower store and buy a dozen red roses, her favorites. They signify love. I learnt later that tulips also are a sign of a perfect lover.

I hand the heavy-set, frazzled-haired, florist the money for the overpriced and out of season flowers before returning to my car, just to cry.

Every year, it hurts. If only we hadn't smoked that joint, she would still be alive. If only we hadn't of fallen asleep. If only I had woken sooner, I could of saved her. If only, if only...

Will these thoughts ever go away?

 

I brush away some snow from on top of next to her grave and sit.

"Maybe I should celebrate The Day of The Dead, so I don't have to mark years by sadness." I lay the tulips on the ground, in front of the stone.

"In Loving Memory of

Lana Jane Parks

Beautiful Daughter, Loving Girlfriend

Forever In Our Hearts"

I read her stone out loud of couple of times.

A sudden burst of wind passes me and takes a flower with it. I start to move so I can chase it, then sigh deeply and give up. Maybe someone else can enjoy it.

"Darling, I wish I believed in Heaven so I could pretend you're an angel watching over me." I lay down and start crying harder. "My angel. My beautiful, perfect angel. I'm so sorry."

The wind hushes and the birds sing a quiet lullaby. I fall asleep on the ground, next to her.

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