The Day You Slipped Away
I see you everyday, memories twirling round and round.
I screamed out your name, but you kept falling, slipping further and further away from me. The rain pounded on the ground around us, the rocks were slippery and dangerous. I stared at the place where your hand had once been, holding on to the rock for life, the one thing between you and the end of the falls.
I remember the screaming of the sirens.
Police, the ambulance, red, white and blue lights, flashing and blurring in my vision, shifting things out of focus. Someone pulled me away, asked me what happen and if I was alright. I never spoke not once. I felt numb.
Then I see you.
They carried you on a stretcher. Your body was wet and cold, I made my way over to you and placed my hand on your cheek. Your curly black hair hung limp, your eyes were closed, someone to the side of me said you had a faint pulse. My heart leapt at that. But then some