I'm so lonely without you. It took a long time to realize I would never hear your voice again, to see your shining eyes, to know you were standing beside me no matter how tough the fighting got. I didn't believe that there was life after you. Sometimes I still don't, but I know I must go on.
It's been four months, three days, and six hours since that fight, Gourry. You were protecting me when you were killed. Taking a blow for me. My gaurdian, my best friend.
I remeber every word we said before that fight, Gourry. I wanted you to pay for lunch, but you said it was my turn. (I checked the calender later, it was my turn after all. Sorry...) The last word I really said to you was an obscenity.
I'm always expecting to hear your voice speak to me in the wind, to feel a ghostly hand on my shoulder when I'm crying, but I know now that those are just fairy tales elements. You're really gone, and it doesn't matter if I cry till my eyes hurt, or scream till I can't talk, or run till my feet bleed, you're not coming back. Belive me, I've tried them all.
There's a coldness now inside of me. I listen to my friend's lively chatter, and I smile and laugh at their jokes. But I always feel as though I'm floating somewhere above them, their figures masked by clouds, their voices as though spoken from the far end of a dark cave. I feel so lonely, even when I am surrounded by people.
It hurt the first time I lost you. When Fibrizo took you away, I thought that was grief. I thought that was lonliness, and I thought that was pain. But you were gone for such a short time then, and I always had the small hope of getting you back. But now, now that I've had time to think about everything I've lost, and I've made myself realize that this is the end, I know real heart break.
There are times when I am just lying on my bed, and with no will of my own, my lips will mouth your name. There are times when I close my eyes, and there you are, dancing behind my eyelids. Nights I cry myself to sleep, and mornings I wake up with tears streaming down my face. Times I just stop in the middle of what I am doing, as though I've been hit by a giant brick wall that carries the scent of your cologne.
But each time I must walk on. Roll out of my bed, and ignore the dagger on my bedside that tempts my wrists. I left the scar there from last time, as a reminder of why I shouldn't do it.
I'm not very strong anymore. I don't like to chase bandits as much. I get scared easily, and I cry at stupid things. I'm not eating as much as I used to, and I've taken to dresses more. I'm not sure why, I just don't feel like the old me.
It's been four months, three days and six hours, Gourry. And while it seems like just yesterday you were sitting across the table, the time I've spent without you is like an eternity, and the future a bleak and tiny milisecond, that seems so long and unending when I think of the pain I will spend it in.