I stood, hunched over, at the head of the grave as the coffin was carried agonizingly slowly from the church. Another tear dropped off the tip of my nose and into the dirt beneath me. Every bone in my body wanted to turn around and run away, but I was going to see this through. I was going to say goodbye if it killed me too.

He had been my love since we were 14: that was before he went to Afghanistan. But I had always loved him. No matter what I did, it was always him. No matter who I did…

The procession stopped suddenly.

“What are you doing here?” a woman hissed at me through gritted teeth. “I told you, this is my son’s funeral and you’re not going to ruin it!”

“Please!” I cried, dropping to my knees. “Please, let me say goodbye. I-” The tears fell out. “I loved him!”

Before I could even register the movement, she was on me, pushing me to the ground. I don’t remember exactly what happened then. Next I knew I was waking up on top of her, while she lay beneath me, her vacant eyes crying tears of blood.