As I watched the roses burn in the fire, sadness ached in my chest. I knew I couldn't get rid of the memories--the bitter memories, the joyful memories. I would never forget the way his eyes shone when he smiled, or they way he would always find the good in people. But now he was gone, and the only thing I had left were those bitter, those joyful memories. And so I thought of when I first met him, those many years ago, when the winter air bit my cheeks and not even my heavy coat could keep me warm...

I never loved you, but I wish I had.

I wish I had the tears to shed for you leaving. I wish when you slammed the door for the last time, I had screamed "FINE!" And not just stared in cold silence.

I wish when you asked me to prom back in high school, I'd said yes-- I really wish you'd never asked me at all. But my refusal just... Fueled you. And I regret it. I regretted it the day you stole my first kiss on the first date. I regretted it the day you bought me a necklace and followed with "it was on sale". I regretted it the day I realized your eyes weren't staring longingly... Just undressing me with every blink.

I wish I'd realized sooner. Sooner, to save myself from this-- this-- this apathy. This cold, unforgiving apathy. Where sadness should cripple, where anger should burn, where desperation and loneliness should send me tumbling down a slope of depression, and insecurity, and loss, and grief...

It doesn't.

I wish I'd realized I never loved you-- No...

I wish I had loved you.

Then, at least, I'd have something left to lose.

The world was black and white, it was said by the people above us that once we meet our soul mates, we see color. Nobody believes it, none of us do. Our world becomes grey, and cloudier. But it changed, for me anyway. I met my soul mate, my fingers touched her and before the eyes I saw strange things. The sky was of a deep hue, but beautiful.

"Do you see this?" My eyes wandered amongst every little thing I found beautiful.

"See what?" She asked as she felt my head to see if I ran a fever.

As those words escaped her lips, I knew I was never her soul mate. But she, was mine.

Wall to wall blackness, even the sun wasn't out, it felt like the whole world was mourning. She was taken from this life too young, and from my side too soon, I could barely hold myself up as I stood to take the stand. On trail for murder, an act of passion my lawyer told me to plead; I don’t think anyone in this room could comprehend the passion that sparked between us, let alone this jury of loveless losers.

I cried out into the cold, as if he could hear me. As if he could see me, as if he were even there. I sat on the harsh cobblestone ground and spoke to myself as if I could have prevented it, as if it were my fault. I stood up and weakly accepted the faint feeling, and then the darkness. All I could hear were the soft voices saying,"Is she okay? We may need a medic." Those soft voices wrapping me up in a warm blanket, yes, they were nice, but I wanted him to be around, telling me that everything was fine.

And one day... it was over. They didn't get in a big fight, there was no cheating, neither had abused the other in any way. One day... it just changed. He had grown a little more jaded and bitter. And she, she had lost that hopeful tone that he held so dear. One day... things just felt different. She didn't feel the joy of his maniacal laughter and he didn't look at her as lovingly as he once had. One day... they just drifted apart. But oh, that was so unlike how they began many years before...

She sat on her porch awaiting for that light of hers. The one that made her smile and had her heart going crazy. He was to come home soon and she would fill his arms perfectly. So perfect because they were meant for one another; but he didn't arrive. Car after car until and a black BMW with darkly tinted windows approached her house. She instantly shot up smiling. It just had to be him, finally home from Iraq. She prepared herself to run up to her husband but then realized it wasn't him. It was two other military personnel. She'd never seen them before but already knew what the were to tell her. Her knees buckled and she began to fall to the floor sobbing but a soldier caught her. She was destroyed, her life was destroyed. Never again would she be the same. "I'm sorry Mrs. Romero, but Angel was killed by an Iranian soldier. We are sorry for your loss". She continued to cry in his arms thinking how she would never be able to tell Angel he was to be a father of a little girl. Unfortunately, she would grow up without knowing her father and the man her mother loved so dearly for all eternity. At least he was finally home where he belonged.

Love is beautiful. At least, love is supposed to be. Our preconceived notions of the idea of love are just sweet lies to hide the truth. What's the truth? Love is an ugly, horrible thing that leaves a hole in your chest and takes away any hope of a good night's sleep. What kind of beauty is that supposed to be?