Spoiler! :
“Count: One, two, three. Breathe. Think.
“Count: One, two, three. Smile. Glance.
"So often I caught myself doing this when she used to come over. When some are as close as her and I were, they would go out to dinner, or to a movie, but not us. She was a lot like me; she found beauty in silence, took two steps forward and one step back, and thought of others more than herself. Often when she visited, we would stare at the ceiling, connecting shapes with the spackle as if they were stars in the sky. At times I brought up a question concerning the coloration of a flower’s petals, and she would just turn over, look into my eyes, and giggle. Sometimes she answered the question. Other times she just turned back around, took a hold of my hand, and pointed at a newly discovered shape. I never cared if she answered. Just being next to her mattered the most. When we did hold a conversation, the content often contained information about something we never wanted to discuss and ended in us sighing in contemplation.”
I take a breath. My voice is starting to stutter. I still can’t believe what had happened.
“I received many-a-remark questioning the time I spent with her. I didn’t see why one must empty out his wallet on a dinner that he was required to dress in some expensive, uncomfortable suit to eat, or on a gift that would have brightened her heart for only a mere fraction of the time you spent with her. I think the best gifts are the memories you share with each other, not the things you buy.”
I catch a glimpse of the white rose sitting on her coffin. I choke. Never in the time I had spent with her did I once think about the possibility of this. The eulogy is over. It can’t be continued. Friends and family in attendance look down in prayer as I drag myself to her resting place. I run my hand through her hair, and kiss her hand one last time. Tears stream down my face. My chest heaves in pain as I gulp in air after every sob. Reaching for my pocket, I grab for a note resting inside. I unfold it, and I whisper to her, “I can’t live without you. But, thankfully, I won’t have to. You are here in my dreams, in my actions, in my memories. This is only temporary. Soon, you will be in my arms again. I love you, always and forever, though death did us part.”
I crumple the last love letter she’d ever receive and place it in her hand.
Wide awake, I stare off into the dark. The radiating green light from my clock slightly illuminates my bed. Directly above me rest the constellations of spackle her and I would lay under at night, holding each other’s hands while smiling in the dark. Now I lie here, half of the bed empty, half of myself gone. We both thought that silence was beauty, but now I wonder if she ever had to endure this silence. This kind of silence without her is not beauty, but torture.
Now, as I gaze upon the shapes and patterns above me, I recall the times she would turn towards me, and tell me in a whisper: “Stay close to me.” This would follow with me smiling and looking away, and then, looking back into her eyes, I’d reply: “Always and forever.” The darkness encroaches, and I feel drained. It pains me to think of her, but it can’t be helped. I turn towards where she used to lay, and I feel a tear fall down my saddened face. I sigh. Quietly, almost inaudibly, I whisper out into the darkness: “Stay close to me.”
Sunlight streaks in through my window. I stretch out my legs, then the stretch slowly moves up the rest of my body, ending with my outstretched arms. I place an arm on the other end of the bed. She’s not there. I rub my eyes and think. Maybe she cooked breakfast. No…there’s no smell of breakfast in the air. The shower’s not running.
I forgot. I’m alone in this world now.
I scrounge around looking for a pair of jeans. I’m not sure why; it's not like I’m going anywhere. The blinking light of my phone’s answering machine catches my eye. 13 missed calls from family and friends. I go ahead and push down “Play”. One by one, I hear the voices of my brother, my parents, her sisters, her parents, mutual friends, and my friends. They all say the same thing.
Looking down at myself, I realize I’m still wearing the undershirt from yesterday’s funeral. Depressed, I take it off, and head to my closet. I rummage through the closet, and after a few seconds reach her end of the closet. My breath leaves. What am I supposed to do with all of this? Confused and at a loss, I snatch a shirt and back away. My life has changed so fast and so drastically, it's all I can do to keep up.
The day drags on, tears constantly streaming down my face as I see more and more of her items throughout the apartment. How will I move on? What will I do to fill this hole?
The silence breaks when the shrill ring of the telephone fills the air. I let it ring so I can hear her voice tell the caller to leave a message after the beep. Oh, what I’d do just to see her one last time…
I spend most of the day just lying around, staring at either the floor or the ceiling, just trying to avoid seeing her items throughout the house. I spotted four - or was it five? - new shapes on the ceiling. I wish she was here to see them. One was a tulip, which was her favorite flower.
That reminds me! Quickly, desperately, I run to grab a vase from the kitchen. I rush to the bathroom, knocking over anything in my path. I halt at the door after flipping on the light switch. A sigh of relief leaves my mouth. They’re alive. There at the doorpost I stand, staring; the rich purple coloring of the tulips’ petals contrast the yellow bathroom walls perfectly. Time seems to stop as I walk to where they were placed next to her toothbrush by me almost a week ago.
Six days ago...That was going to be the day. She would’ve come home late that night, exhausted from her trip, and gone straight to bed. Early the next morning, I would have woken up extra early to prepare an extra-cheesy omelet with three slices of bacon on the side. She always wanted three, but never ate the third one, instead offering it to me. Then, about an hour after I would rise, so would she. She’d head to the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready for the day. But, she’d see the tulips rather than her toothbrush. She’d pick them up, smelling each one individually, taking in the beauty of this gift. But, the smelling would get cut short when the box in the middle of the tulips would’ve caught her eye. After picking it up, she’d open it, and behold, a ring of perfection would be delicately placed inside. And lying under the box would hide a note, which read “Marry me?”
That was the plan. The perfect plan. That day was going to mark the first day of our engagement. That day was going to mark the first day we were going to make something out of our lives. That day was going to mark the first day that she knew I wanted to be with her forever.
My heart beat slows and my sobs quiet down as I place the tulips one by one into the vase of water. After another long look at what almost was, I take the vase and place it on her nightstand. Tonight I fall asleep gazing at the tulips rather than the constellations.
I jolt awake to someone banging on my door. I go to the door cautiously, unsure what to expect. I open it. Just the lady from the office dropping off mail at the apartments. My mind tangles itself up attempting to figure out what could possibly be in the mail for me. I manage to mutter “Thank you” before taking the box. Mesmerized, I take the box to the kitchen counter. I use a knife to make easy work of the packing tape that is keeping me from whatever is waiting for me inside. The first thing I see is a note. I read it out loud:
Thinking of you, dear.
Hope all is well. Miss talking to you.
I know how much you enjoy writing.
Try to keep your mind off things.
Love,
Mom
More tears. Great… I remove the note and under it hides a marvelous, beautiful leather journal. The leather is a perfect light brown and smooth to the touch. Now comes the tough part. What do I write about? Such a magnificent journal shouldn’t be wasted on just anything. I pace the kitchen straining my mind to think of anything worth putting in this piece of art. Five minutes pass: nothing. Twenty minutes gone: nothing. After an hour, I call it quits.
I get dressed, still attempting to avoid her side of the closet, and prepare for the day. Most of the day will be spent reading one of her favorite books while sitting at her eternal resting place. I start looking around the apartment for my jacket. Just wishing life would give me a break, I snatch my umbrella and leave without my jacket. I close the door behind me and leave it unlocked; I always have, unless she had stayed there while I went out. She was the only object I was ever scared of losing.
I prop the umbrella up against the tombstone to help shield me from the torrential downpour. From my back pocket I withdraw two things: Lord of the Flies and a pressed sunflower I found while clearing out a few of her things. I started reading. At first I start reading out loud, as if she is there sitting next to me in the pouring rain. Then, some point later, I grow silent, and read to myself. When I finish the last page of the first chapter, I see raindrops on the page. I look up. The umbrella has no punctures.
I reach up and feel my face. When did I start crying? I wipe my nose on my sleeve and sniffle. I can’t be like this; not here, not now. I place the pressed sunflower at the base of her gravestone. Smiling, I whisper, “You always were my sunshine. You apparently still are. Even on a day like this, and under circumstances such as these, you make me smile.”
I bow my head in prayer. May God bless her soul.
I slam my car door. I stand, still and silent, in the parking lot with the rain falling all around me. I feel it on my face; the rain slams against my clothes. Then, quickly, I open up my umbrella and use it to shield the torrent. It's amazing, I think, how quickly one could go from feeling something as wonderful as rain to not feeling anything at all. Oh, how I miss you, and wish you were here to feel the rain again.
I see someone running my direction. I squint and notice they only have a book as protection from the onslaught of droplets. I run over to meet the person and offer my umbrella for them to walk under. I catch up to her. “Hey!” She stops. “Need someone to walk with?”
A look of relief overcomes her face. She dashes over to me.
“Thank you so much--” She paused, waiting for a name.
“Alec. Alec Greyson,” I say. “Nice to meet you--” It's my turn to pause.
“Jennie Willows.” She flashes a smile. The ability to speak momentarily fades from my memory. What a beautiful smile…
I really did like this a lot. Send me a PM when you put the second part up. 
It really made absolutely no sense to me and irritated me loads but it's gonna be explained so it's all good. 
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