Still Here - by Maq

I didn’t expect it to rain.People always say it rains at funerals, like grief is supposed to seep into the ground with you. But I always imagined mine would be sunny. Light. The kind of day where you’d want to be outside, not because of me, but in spite of me.Turns out, it rained anyway.They brought me in a simple black casket. No gold trim. No excessive flowers. Just what I would’ve wanted, I guess. Except I didn’t want any of this. Not the dying. Not the ceremony. Not the way my mother looked like she was about to collapse with every step.The priest was reading something generic about peace and eternity. I wasn’t listening. I was too busy staring at the people I used to know. Funny how you never really know who will show up. My high school English teacher was there, sobbing like we’d just spoken yesterday. Meanwhile, my cousin Anna sat stiff as stone, scrolling her phone between hymns.And then there was her.She stood a little apart from the others, hands clutching a folded letter. I knew what it was. I’d written it the night before I… left. I’d slipped it into her mailbox and hoped she’d find it before everything went dark.She did. And she came.I wanted to scream. To tell her it wasn’t supposed to end like this. That I was sorry. That I loved her. That I meant to stay longer.But I couldn’t speak. I could only watch as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Maybe it was “Goodbye.” Maybe it was “Why?” Maybe it was my name.My little brother threw dirt into the grave and whispered, “Don’t be scared.”God, that broke me.I wasn’t scared when I died. I was tired. So unbearably tired. But now…now I felt something different.Regret.Not just for the people I left behind, but for the things I didn’t say. The days I wasted being angry. The nights I ignored calls. The way I thought I had time.You never think your last morning will be the last.And as the crowd began to thin, umbrellas rising like a field of small black moons, I felt myself start to fade, like fog in sunlight, like memory slipping through someone’s fingers.But before I went, I saw her turn back one last time.And smile. Just a little.Like maybe she’d forgiven me.Or maybe she hadn’t, but she came anyway.Either way, it was enough.And then I was gone. Not erased. Not forgotten.Just… still here.In the rain. In the ache. In the spaces where they may remember me.

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