Grief took from me

what i learnt from my best friends death

( NOTE: PLEASE PLAY THE AUDIO WHILE LISTENING FOR THE BEST EXPERIENCE )

The black I’m wearing doesn’t show how much despair I’m carrying inside. Is there a color darker than black? I hate this. I hate life, and I hate the camera beside me.

Yet somehow, it is my most prized possession.

It is filled with videos. Sometimes of one person, sometimes two, sometimes more. But she was always in the frame. Always smiling. What started as a stupid photography group assignment ended in despair.

“Stop it, Pebble. You’re getting my bad side. My good side. Then again, I cannot look bad in a picture even if you tried.”

“Well, that’s not what the camera says. Just stay still and stop flipping your hair so much,” I’d reply.

I hated it when she called me Pebble. I could not stand her. But I could not call her ugly either. I also had a better chance of passing this exam with her.

I am so deep in thought that I do not realize my tears are mixing with rain. It is raining, like the universe is telling me to let it out. I pull out a plastic bag and carefully wrap my camera.

“Oh, don’t be such a dweeb. Get in here, nerd. I want you in the shot too.”

I roll my eyes, but a small smile betrays me. Maybe she is not so bad. She is pretty, I guess. I set the camera at an angle and run to her.

“Have a grape.”

She feeds it to me.

I might have judged her too harshly.

I walk home beneath the rain, thinking of how little anyone truly understood her. Why she smiled so easily. She was entirely herself, yet remained unseen. People saw a popular girl and assumed she had everything.

Did they know she loved Star Wars?

Did they know how she laughed, really laughed, at shows that made no sense, laughter that bent her forward and stole her breath?

Did they know what she looked like hunched over a toilet, sick and shaking, whispering that she was fine when she clearly was not?

Did they know what it took for her to stand in front of a mirror and cut off all her hair, piece by piece, pretending it did not matter?

Did they know she used to sit on the same park bench every evening, waiting for her father, watching the path until the light faded, until it was too dark to pretend he might still come?

They knew the version of her that survived in hallways and photographs.

I knew the one that existed when no one was watching.

“Pebble, promise me you’ll never be sad when you think of me. Watch all the videos and remember me like that. You take really beautiful videos. I hope you get into that photography university you always wanted. I’m a little tired now.”

She had lost all her hair, all her color, and so much weight. Still, she smiled.

“I love you, Pebble.”

The tape stopped rolling.

And she stopped breathing.

My beautiful girl.

I loved it when she called me Pebble.

I do not know how to continue life without her. But for her sake, I have to. She always wanted to be a muse. One day, I will own a gallery filled with nothing but her. Every angle. Every moment.

Because she never had a bad side.

The camera loved her.

But I loved her more.