Death of the devoted.

I throw a lily on your corpse and bury you.As I shovel dirt into the hole in which you lay, the flower falls from your chest and onto the earth surrounding you, buried all the same.You wouldn't have held onto it, even if you were alive.You thought flowers were impractical and expensive.But lilies are much more symbolic to me.I think you would've been proud to see what we'd accomplished when we had received them.Sadly, I'm not sure I deserved any of it.I've faked my way through everything I've done since you left.I don't know when you died, exactly.I think it was a gradual decline.I felt you slip away - at first you embraced me tightly, then held my hand, then walked behind me, until I did not feel you at all.Now I feel like a shadow of what we once were, together.I kneel down at your grave, press my face into the ground, wishing I lay where you are instead.You alone would've wanted to live.Why must I stay?Without you, I wish I was dead.