I always wanted to see her again. Her death never really sat right with me, how easily people brushed it off, how easily people moved on. I never understood why.

Or at least I couldn't understand why I couldn't do the same.

I found myself at her gravesite again, the fresh flowers I had brought laid down beside her tombstone.

Roses, I brought roses. The cool breeze brushed my hair to the side, a rose petal flying into the distance with the discarded leaves of autumn.

I never really had closure, her death was so sudden, she was run over, and her head was crushed. I remember the sight of her corpse, the splattered blood on the road. I remember how I screamed, how I screamed her name, how I wanted to save her.

...

I simply was consumed by my thoughts as I stared at the words on her tombstone, the timespan in which she lived too short for anyone.

I felt a tear run down my face, I looked at the small, silver ring she had given me before her passing, a small blue diamond at its center. I was always told that it was girly and that I needed to take it off, but I never will.

I sighed, my breath visible in the air as it dispersed. I closed my eyes, thinking about her smile, and the way she'd laugh.

I'd open my eyes again, the sight of the small tombstone that honored her life stinging me as if I hadn't seen it a hundred times before.

I turned away, beginning to walk towards the exit of the graveyard, leaves crunching under my feet.

What pained me the most was that I never got to tell her how I truly felt, how I saw her, and how I admired her.

I mean, I wore the ring she gave me as if I was engaged, she claimed it was merely a friendly gesture, but I knew otherwise. We both knew, everyone that knew us knew, we had something going on that we were too shy to confront one another about.

I froze, stopping in front of the open gates that led to the outside of the metal fence that enclosed the graveyard.

I quickly turned around, at first walking, then jogging, then sprinting towards her grave. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw her, standing atop her own tombstone. Her beautiful, luscious long hair flowing in the wind, she faced the other way, her hands behind her back.

My mouth fell agape as I struggled to breathe, and my eyes widened, she wore the same clothes she wore that day.

She turned to face me, acknowledging my presence. Her blood-red eyes looking into mine, she smiled.

I stood there, frozen, the sight of her red eyes reminding me of the blood that had splattered onto me that day.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she spoke first.

"You look surprised."

Her voice was so beautiful, I hadn't forgotten it, but I was losing memory of it, hearing it again made my eyes water.

"Konna..."

My voice held pain and grieving behind it, I felt so vulnerable in the position I found myself in, yet I wanted to stay in it forever, with her.

She wouldn't move from her position, outstretching an open hand to me, I wanted to touch her palm, to feel her touch, I wanted to hold her.

I smiled, tears running down my face, I had extended my own arm to grab her hand, and I felt the familiar warmth of her palm holding mine.

I looked up at her, smiling weakly.

"Don't cry."

She'd say, her voice soft. Her touch gentle.

I'd wipe my tears with my free hand.

"How could I not?"

"Because..."

Her eyes would meet mine, their red color so aggressive yet so comforting at the same time.

"You need to let me go."

...

She was gone.

I stood there, unmoving, my arm extended towards no one now. The warmth of her hand gone now, replaced with the cold autumn air.

"Konna..."

"Why must you go?"

I'd say to no one, my eyes looking forward to where her eyes used to be.

But no one replied.