I was dressed up in a black formal black dress. My nose was sniffling profusely, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. Today cried over boy I thought was beautiful. When I looked down at him, his beautiful blonde hair was back against his brow, his eyelids were fluttered shut, and his lips still had a pink tint to them. He appeared at ease. The only problem with this situation
was that he wasn't simply sleeping, as some of his cousins had asked their mothers if he was, and he had rope burns around his neck disgracing his beauty with it.

The Boy who sat in the back of my last period class, had died.

He wasn't going to return. And as I held his cold, limp hand as it laid beside him in the casket, something occurred to me that I had never imagined I was capable of.

"I looked down at the boy
Who has marks around his neck.
His note wasn't long,

I loved him.