Some people say there is a calm before the storm, but I’d like to amend that and talk about the calm after the storm. It’s unsettling and quiet, and there is an air of surrealism as I look around, seeing nothing but havoc and destruction. Trees are uprooted, there is debris everywhere, houses are massacred, and the air feels heavy. A fire is still be burning somewhere, as if it is fed by decay.

The calm after the storm is when the world is dreamlike, hazy, like being between sleep and waking.

That’s where I am now. The world is so quiet outside my window, and the skies are an overcast grey with the smallest quiver of sunlight hiding behind the clouds. You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you the world ended a few weeks ago.

But it did.

The silence is deafening, but it is a relief against the pounding of my thoughts. They swirl around my skull like lost ghosts. Any sound, though, would make me just hide my head under my pillow. That’s where my head has been for weeks, and my body has been buried in my bed. I mean, the world ended right, so who cares if I never got up again?

The splitting headache from my tears is the only constant that exists anymore. My eyes are so dry and red that it feels like I can never cry again. But I know I will. It’s the only way I can ever fall asleep anymore.

A soft breeze ripples through the leaves on the trees that are still standing. There is no one outside at all, and it feels as silent as a graveyard. The window is open, and the breeze makes it way under the windowpane and tickles my cheek. It ruffles my hair, soft as a whisper. A single tear creeps out of my eye, and I don’t even bother wiping it away. I stopped trying to hide my tears a long time ago. Once, I used to hide them from him. I didn’t want the smile to fade from his face, not even for a second, to worry about me. I didn’t want him to know the ruinous thoughts that crept through my brain, uninvited, even though he told me I had nothing to fear. He would have held me, comforted me, and said you’re not going to lose me.

But how could he know? He would never expect to be taken from the world, taken from me, forever.

He always had this thing about “not being a hero.” He always said, there’s nothing wrong with running. He tried to tell me that that’s what he’d been doing all his life thus far. And look at me, he said, I’m still here, spreading his arms wide and smiling at me.

At this thought, I choke, seemingly forgetting how to breathe. Even taking a breath feels painful. Seeing his smile in my head makes my withered eyes burn even harder.

This is what nobody tells you when someone you love dies: how the world seems to keep turning, but somehow stops at the same time. It’s like other people are moving around you, and you’re stuck in one place. The sun goes up and then goes down, just the way it always did before, but you still don’t go anywhere. The grief keeps you locked in a vortex that you cannot escape. Others look at you with sad eyes, wishing they knew what to say, what to do, to help. But there is nothing they can do. No one can pull you out, at least not right then. For a while, it refuses to let go and it will only slightly fade as more time passes.

For now, the chasm I’m in is deep and perilous, but until the pain in my chest abates, I would rather just lie here until I get swallowed in. Maybe then, just maybe, it will stop hurting so much.

In another life, I would be wrapped in his arms, crying into his jacket, and he would be whispering, I got you, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay, I promise. In another life, I would believe him. I would believe that the pain would stop, that it would be okay.

But he doesn’t know that he’s the reason for my pain. The day he left the world, it didn’t just stop for him. It feels like it stopped for me too.

I feel like a different person now. The old me, the person I used to be when I was with him, that was my best self. Before, it always felt like I was just stepping through life, making my way as best as I could without leaving any footprints. With him, I made more strides than ever before. He led me along, arm around my waist, whispering in my ear, you got this.

He became real the first day he spoke to me. He, quite literally, crash landed into my life. Before I officially met him, he was like a mirage. I didn’t understand what I was thinking and feeling as I looked at him, that strange boy with the long hair and the ripped jeans. He seemed hazy to me, as if he only existed on the fringe of a dream, but I kept seeing him at school every day. Until, he finally spoke to me.

I had been standing at my locker at school, trying to decide if I should bring both textbooks to class instead of just one, and suddenly, I was on the floor. I blinked, dazed, looking at my books and folders all over the floor. I had felt something run into me, but I didn’t know what. Suddenly, a hand reached out to me. I looked up, and it was him. His face was bright red, and I thought he was apologizing for something.

“I am so sorry! Are you okay?” he asked. I shook my head, as if I could literally dissipate the fog in my brain that was preventing me from speaking.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I responded, taking his hand so he could help me up. Once I was standing, he scrambled to pick up my stuff all over the ground.

“Seriously, I am so sorry,” he kept saying as he collected my things. I just nodded, still not knowing what to say. Pull it together, jeez. He’s just a guy.

“Really, it’s okay,” I said, choking out a quick laugh. Once he had my things, he stood up right in front of me. I met his eyes, and the only thought I had in that moment was how huge they were.

“I was an idiot,” he said, looking over and giving the middle finger to someone down the hallway. I turned to look, and another guy was shrugging, looking embarrassed. I looked back at him, and he shook his head.

“That little shit is so dead,” he said, “I guess he thought it would be really funny to try and headlock me in the middle of the crowded hallway, when I was least expecting it.”

I forced a laugh. “No big deal.”

He still looked at me, right at me. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, “You look a little dazed.”

You have no idea, dude, I thought to myself, but it’s not because I fell.

“No, I’m fine,” I said, trying to force a smile, but then I found myself smiling for real when he grinned at me.

Still holding my things in one arm, he held out his other hand. “I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

I took his hand and told him my name.

“Wow, that’s beautiful,” he said, holding out my books for me to take.

I took them and rolled my eyes. “Really, you don’t have to pretend to flirt with me to make amends. It’s not a big deal.”

A crestfallen look covered his face. “I wasn’t pretending to flirt with you.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t?”

He shook his head, his thick, brown hair fanning around his shoulders.

“Oh,” I said simply, feeling my face turn red.

I wonder what he’d think if he knew how often I watched him at lunch, I thought.

“Can I make it up to you?” he asked.

I looked back up at him, praying my face wasn’t too terribly red.

“I know a great spot, outside of town, I’ll take you there. It’s kind of my secret.” He said the last sentence leaning in close to my ear. My stomach flung up to my throat when he got close to me.

I remember trying to think of what to say, maybe something witty, flirty, or clever, but my brain had not been working properly. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s just a guy.

But he wasn’t. I was one of the few people that ever figured that out. He was way more than just a guy.

I remember biking home after school that day, relishing the fresh air pumping into my lungs and clearing my foggy brain. There were so many things I wish I had said to him then, things that would have made me look smooth, flirtatious, and confident. But, for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt like I couldn’t speak around him. And now I have a date with him. How did that happen?

A sob chokes through me as the spell of my memory breaks. Those memories have me trapped in that chasm of grief, because to try and escape them hurts so much more when I crash land back to reality. Now, I will never see his smile again. I will never feel his warm arms around me, kissing my forehead. Those memories are the only things that make me feel like I’m still real at all and not just a shadow in the dark.

That beautiful boy crash landed into me like a massive meteor, and now, I can never be the same again. He filled a hole in me that I didn’t even know was there, and now that he is gone, my entire core feels like it was ripped out of me.

Everyone even said I was different after meeting him. Some were concerned because of the rumors they might have heard about him, but those who understood knew that I was better than I ever had been. My dad, poor thing, will never understand teenage girls, and he didn’t try to figure out what had changed with me. My mom, with her superpower of reading me like a large-print book, started to get it. Before she had even met him, she noticed a lightness in my step that wasn’t there before. I swear, our eyes would meet, and she just knew somehow. Eventually, she insisted on meeting him. Even though his outward appearance made her wonder, all she had to do was pay attention to how I looked at him.

She had already spent almost every night the last few weeks holding me while I sobbed in her arms. If she didn’t know then, she knew now.

Only I can speak of what I saw when I looked at him. And I know now that I will always be grateful that he had me in his life, to see him in a way that no one else got to. Because what I saw, and what he was, was a gift.

The rest of the world was comfortable blaming everything on him, saying he was the leader of a devil cult. It makes sense that all of this was his fault to them. But they don’t know. How could they? They never stopped to look at him and try to see what I saw. Because if they had bothered, he might still be alive.

He was gentle, because every time he touched me, held me, his hands and his arms were soft. His huge heart practically bled out of his chest any time I didn’t look happy, because he couldn’t be happy either. He was always thinking about me and how to make me happy: picking wildflowers for me from the fields outside of town, getting my favorite movies from the video store, always having my favorite snacks at his trailer. He always knew when I needed a hug, a kiss, or even just a touch. He was a gentleman because he held every door open for me and he always made sure I was comfortable with everything we did.

He could quickly change the whole mood of the room, just with his presence. He was clumsy and goofy, and he used this to his advantage. He was funny and said ridiculous things to make people laugh, and sometimes, he didn’t even have to try. To me, he radiated light and warmth. He used his charisma to really reach people and to try and make them laugh.

His eyes held everything beautiful in the world in them. They were soft, delicate, and they always seemed to be glowing. His smile was my kryptonite: just seeing it, knowing I was the reason behind it, made all the bullshit of the world fall away. He was devilish, charming, flirtatious, and could make anybody laugh at the drop of a hat. He was whimsical and silly, never taking anything too seriously.

Above all, he was brave. He was brave to be himself in a world that hated him. Instead of hiding away like so many others, he refused to be unknown.

And it occurred to me after a few weeks, when the grief didn’t feel so gaping and fresh: I was brave to love him. At first, I was scared to. I didn’t know how to explain how I was feeling, because I had never felt anything like it before. And then, once I already loved him, I was brave to keep loving him. Because I knew we lived in a world that would never embrace him exactly as he was, and because I was always afraid of the world tearing us apart someday. I was afraid to lose him, and maybe someone other than me would have run away from that. Nothing in this life is forever. But I didn’t run away from him. I loved him too much. I didn’t care what everyone else said about him.

And he didn’t run from me. He crashed into me and saw something in me that I could never see myself. He refused to let a single day go by without telling me I was beautiful, I was strong, I could do whatever I wanted to do.

It is brave to be in love in this world, isn’t it? So many things can’t last, and I suppose parts of me worried about the day that he wouldn’t be in my life anymore. But somehow, that big oaf of a boy convinced me to take the leap and to love him, no matter what everyone else thought. Despite what I even thought. And even though he tried to sell me on how easily he could run away, I refused to believe it. Because he didn’t run away from me, from loving me, despite the world and its cruelties.

Some time goes by, I don’t know how much. Time doesn’t even seem real anymore. But eventually, I turn my tired eyes back to the window, brought back from my memories by the sunlight breaking through the clouds. A quiet titter of birds singing breaks the utter stillness of the world outside. The storm has passed, ripping up the tree roots as it went, but there is still a little bit that remains when it leaves. The world was quiet for a while, but the sound is starting to return.

My cheeks are wet from the fresh tears, and the headache that seems to constantly break open my skull feels like it’s pulsing in my brain. I take a deep breath, and I’m reminded that I need to breathe again. It’s almost like getting lost in the memories and refusing to breathe in the current reality will help me stay there, where he still exists.

It hits me again: he never ran away. He crash landed into this world, into me, and didn’t let anything, or anyone, dull his shine. All this time, he just waited for someone to see him for what he really was. And I was lucky to love him. He was brave for being himself, for loving me, and I was equally as brave to love him back.

If I knew then what I knew now, would I still have said yes? Would I still have gone out with him and let myself fall for him?

Just for a moment, it feels like he’s right next to me. And the fresh tears falling down my face, accompanied by the shadow of a sad smile, don’t burn as much as they usually do. Somehow, in the heaviness of grief, I can still be reminded of how lucky I was to love him, and how much courage we both had to love as fiercely as we did in this cynical world.

I didn’t run away this time, right?

No, my golden boy, you never did. You were always so, so brave.