She was amazing. I brought her with me everywhere. I wasn’t ashamed of being seen with her in public like some guys are. With her perfect posture - her line-straight spine and sturdy back - and the complexity of her face - the simple, plain beauty that also seemed to reveal her true personality - I don’t know why anyone would be ashamed with her. Some days, I would pick her up and bring her to my bed. Others, I sat with her outside until we got sunburn on our bones. There were many times she accompanied me to a brother’s soccer game or waited with me at the dentist’s office. I felt broken when I didn’t bring her with me.
She opened up to me. She told me her story, her thoughts. I felt like I knew her better than anyone, and she really knew me too. She could make me cry or laugh without even a moment’s notice. She let me love her, she let me take care of her. If I ever made a mistake, hurt her in any way, she would wear my mistake with pride, she wouldn’t let it be the end of her. My mistakes were seldom though, and they weren’t what killed her in the end.
Like every story of star crossed lovers, it was my devotion to her that cursed us from the start. We were together only a week or two, but I never found anyone like her before. It was time that stabbed me in the back as curiosity took her away from me. I delayed it as long as I could, God knows I did, but with every passing minute, I knew the end was inevitable. I had to say goodbye.
She died in my arms, quickly and peacefully. I decided to make room for her somewhere special. After a few minutes, she was resting between The Book Thief and A Thousand Splendid Suns on my “Favorites Shelf”. I think of how rare something as good as she was, as I place the now useless bookmark on my nightstand, and I mourn the end of my adventures with her.