After I get the news, I find myself in the back of a church, wearing black like you’re supposed to when somebody you used to love dies.

In the back of the church. Because, God forbid your poor mother see me.

And somehow, none of it is real until they bring in your casket, and all I can think of is how you used to be so claustrophobic. And now you’ve got to spend the rest of eternity in such a small wooden box? It doesn’t seem right.

Don’t they know you at all?

There’s even purple lilacs on either side of the altar, and the scent of them is so strong that I would have tears in my eyes if I wasn’t sobbing already.

You hated lilacs. They made you sneeze.

I was the one who loved lilacs.

The lid’s closed, because none of us can stand to see you, all blackened and burned. That’s not how we want to remember you, you know? I’ve got a picture in my house somewhere of the both of us on a beach. I still have it, after all this time. That’s how I remember you.

Not like this.

Not like this.