A velvet lined coffin.

A story of a love and a lover that waited a day too late and will pay for it forever.

The day that you died the rain was coming down so hard that I couldn’t even see the tree in front of my house that we used to climb as children. It chokes the air on it’s way down to earth, wrapping it’s long bony fingers around it’s throat. The sound of the drops of water hitting the earth is the only sound to be heard, and for a while I forget that it’s not the pulse of the sky. Amidst all of this, I think of you. My tears seem to be even stronger than the storm outside, as I fold into myself in my room with the walls that seem to be closing in on me. You were my best friend, and I was supposed to shelter you from the rest of the world.

The day of your funeral the April air seems filled with grief. Although the grass is still green and the sky is still blue, there’s something missing right in the middle. In between, where they kiss, in the space that is not land or air, I expect to see you smiling at me with your crooked grin. But you don’t. You can’t.

Your coffin is black and shiny, clearly polished perfectly, with ornate details on the sides. The inside of the lid is a red velvet, and although I can’t see the spot where you lay inside, I presume it’s the same. Lilies lay beside it, and I can’t help wondering if there is a black flower, because a white one doesn’t seem appropriate for death.

You should be standing here next to me, whispering words in my ear. Sweet, powerful words full of wisdom and the faint traces of humor that all your words hold. I want to hear your voice one more time, even though I have heard it every day for most of my life, I would give anything to hear it now. I would want you to c**k back your head, raise your left eyebrow the way you do when you’re deep in thought and listen to what I waited too long to tell you.

How the air breaks just for you, and when you are around I forget that the world around us continues to move, not just standing still the way I am when I see your face.

You’re not standing beside me now, and there’s nobody to hold my hand here.

The last notes of the organ play, and I think about how much you hated the instrument. “It just sounds like death,” you would say when I asked, and I would conclude that it was as good a reason as any. Any word you said I would believe as the truth.

Then it’s over and I go up to see you. I refuse to think that what I’m thinking is just your body, and that the part of you that I love is gone. Your blonde curls are all over the place, tangled in places but still possessing the same shine that they did when you were breathing.

It nearly breaks me. Nearly cuts me in half and brings me down to my knees, and it’s taking everything in me to keep it together. I want to throw myself across your body, put my lips near your word and talk to you, say one last thing. Would you hear it?

Here it is: I love you. No other girl will ever compare, and I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love. Every day of the many years I’ve known you I’ve wanted to say something, but I’ve always been too afraid. Other girls pale in comparison to you, and I would rather die alone and miserable than face up to the fact that the one girl I want I can’t have.

Although I want to at least touch your hand, make sure that somebody hasn’t made a mistake and that you really are gone, I walk away. Before I can’t walk away and leave you in your velvet lined coffin.

I walk towards your parents who stand by the doors. I know that you think that they never really loved you, but I can see it in their faces. Quite similar to my own, their pain is evident from the smallest things. The flicker in your mother’s eyes, the way your father runs his fingers across his face. They’re broken too.

All the guests are lining past your parents, saying how sorry they are and how much they all loved her. “I’m sorry for your loss,” most of them say as they walk away.

You’re not lost like my old football jersey or the golden bracelet that you said you looked everywhere for but never found (here’s a secret: I kept it because it was the only part of you I could really have, and now that seems even more true). We know exactly where you are, and we will never really find you. 

When my time comes, my throat seems to swell closed. “She would have hated the music, lilies were her least favourite flower and she wanted her ashes spread out over the ocean, not put in some box to rot in the earth.” I manage to choke out. I know it’s cruel to say, but I don’t care any more. I don’t care about anything.

Your mother smiles at me, pity filling her eyes.

“I know you loved her, but she’s in a better place.”

I know you loved her.


She has no idea how much I loved you, so much that my heart hurt at the mention of your name. 

I leave the church without another word, but stop almost immediately, remembering the last time I wore this very suit.

Prom night, last June. You wore a violet dress that went to your ankles, and you looked beautiful. I wanted to ask you but never could get the courage, and you went with another guy. I remember writing a message on a napkin and handing it to you as your date talked with one of his teammates.

You look beautiful.

A few minutes later I got a reply.

Not so bad yourself.

There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I wrote back, and I slipped it to you as you danced past.

You wrote back, shoving the letter into my palm as you were lead out of the room by your date. I just wanted to run over to you, take your hand from his and never let it go. I was well aware what you and him were about to do, and I never even read your reply.

I reached into my pocket. There, along with a few coins and a lighter that doesn’t work, was a napkin.

The last message, in your messy handwriting: I love you, not that it matters.

Little did you know that it matters more than whether the sun rises in the sky.

I write back on the crumpled napkin, my handwriting looking neat and angular compared to yours. I walked back inside and in between the gaps of people looking to get another last look at you, I slipped it in the pocket of your jacket. I know it will stay there forever.

I love you. Always have, always will.

Although the leaves will come and go with each autumn, and the years will go by, I will never change. They say your first love is your hardest love, and I would have to say that you will be my only love. Perhaps I will waste away among the trees, my purpose gone, buried in the velvet lined coffin. For you I weep until I breathe my last breath, and until I breathe my last breath, and I will love you for just that long.

Author's Note

I think that it makes it more powerful that the guy is talking directly to his friend, using 'you' instead of 'she'. He'll never fall in love again, because his first love was his only love. Tell me what you think, if any lines stood out and how you think it could improve. If you like it, add me as a friend.
-Maddie.