I Died Today

I died today, stood there and watched my soul drift away. As your chest rose and fell for what I knew would be the final time, I felt the pull on my soul and knew it would be the end of me. I kissed your blood stained lips, and cried unto your lifeless chest, waiting, waiting, waiting, for my lungs to stop filling with air and my eyes to fall closed, never to open, again. It never happened. Why didn't it happen?

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As I stand here, staring at our unmade bed, with the whistle of the teakettle ringing in my ears, I wonder why my chest still raises and falls. Why my lungs still feel the need to fill with air? Why I can feel the pain of your absence in my chest so acutely? When you are gone.

Why didn't God take me too?

Am I to wander the earth soulless? because you carried my soul, my heart, my everything. When we met, we became one. We have always been one in the same.

How can I still be here if you are not? How can I continue to breathe when you are gone? When you died, I died as well. How is it that I am still here, breathing, still going through the motions of the everyday life?

The kettle is screaming, now.

I cannot tear my eyes away from the bed. Our bed. I cannot comprehend that tonight I will not fall asleep safely tucked away in your arms. Can I still sleep there? How can I sleep if I am dead?

This is not fair. I should be gone too. I should not be here when you are not.

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Harry said I am still alive. How is that possible? I watched my soul leave the hospital room. I watched it leave with you.

I made the bed. I can still smell you. How can you not be here if I can still smell your scent? I am afraid to sleep, but at the same time I pray that I am sleeping now, that I will awaken to find you there holding me, as you have always done.

I cried onto your pillow. It does not carry your scent, anymore. Only the scent of my salty tears linger.

Will everything about you leave? When that happens, do I come and join you? Or am I still going to be here? Still without my soul?

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"…like this for days," a tall, dark haired man whispered to his companion. The older man blinked his eyes to keep the tears from falling.

"She is just going through the motions," he answered, gazing at the young witch in the corner, staring blankly out the window.

"That is exactly what I mean, Remus." The younger man ran his hand angrily through his hair. "She is breathing, eating, crying, everything that she should, but she isn't here." His green eyes pleaded with Remus for an answer, but there wasn't one to give, not one that he wanted to hear, anyway.

"Everyone deals with loss in their own way, Harry," he said softly, not taking his eyes off the witch.

"She thinks she is the one who died!" Harry screamed, quickly rising from his chair, causing it toppled over, crashing loudly on the floor. The witch in the corner of the room did not even blink.

Placing a calming hand on Harry's shoulder, Remus asked softly, "What do you mean by that?"

"She asked me yesterday, 'Why am I still breathing if I am dead?'" Harry slumped back against the wall, tears pooling in his eyes, his chest heavy with grief. "That was after I found her sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor with the stove on fire." His hand waved toward the blackened stove and burnt curtains.

"She just needs time," Remus said, glancing at the young women it the corner. She looked so empty. Maybe she was right; maybe she did die, too. It would not be the first time he had saw someone die while he or she were still breathing.

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