I don't watch the earth spin as I walk, one foot kicking in front of the other. I don't think I watch much of anything anymore because it doesn't do me any good.
We didn't see her falling, we didn't see her struggle. I wish we could have helped her. I wish that I had done something more than wait for her to come to me.
Logan came back and found nothing as he'd left it. Hoping for solace, he found tragedy instead and I could hear his heart break from where I'd hidden myself in the sky, my clouds shielding me from the earth that I don't watch.
None of us saw it coming. The Professor does not look so pleasant anymore because he was oblivious to her suffering. Jean beats herself up every day because even she didn't know and she thought they were friends. Her husband holds her and tries to bind the mental wound, but she still bleeds for the mistake.
Marie was dying on the inside. Then she finished the job with a metal razor blade that must have pleased the shades of Magneto that colored her personality.
If only he'd come back sooner. I think (I know) he could have saved her life. But I can't blame him for it. Like I said, I heard his heart break. Then I heard him die.
Figuratively, of course, but dead just the same. I watch him sometimes. He stayed here because there was no place else to go. And she had been here. I think he stays so he can smell her. Does he smell her blood? I'm sure it still clings to all of us--it stains our hands.
I'm glad he didn't have to see it. Ugly red flowers bloomed from her wrists. She did it in the bathtub, in gloves, undergarments, and dogtags, the hot shower keeping her body warm.
I found her and I screamed, calling up the ranks of superheros that live under this roof. We can save the world, but not our little girl. I pressed a hand to her throat, then to her chest. Nothing in both places. She was dead, so I stood back and looked at the lovely Ophelia, drowning in her madness, swirls of blood carrying her away as they whirled down the drain. She was so pale. Her elbows, wrists, and ankles were bony and sharp. Ribs pressed through her skin, perverse smiles of bone.
No more smiles for me.
Then I looked at her face, peaceful and thin. It was a face that was hungry for so many things, just like her soul. We starved her without even meaning to.
The days are cold and tempestuous here. It's my fault. I admit it. Sometimes I wish I could join her, just so I can be a coward. I know Logan does, too. I'll bet he's tried, but his body has always betrayed him. Just like Marie's body betrayed her.
Oh, we are sad people! We beg for humanity to see us when we can't even see ourselves. I once told a man that I sometimes hated normal people. Sometimes I hate us.
It's been so long, yet I still see swirls of blood in the water draining from my bathes. I don't take showers anymore. I hate red flowers. I spent a whole night smashing the ones from her funeral. I see her face in the crowd wherever I go and I know I'm not the only one. My white head of hair mocks me in the mirror as I remember the tragedy.
Her death is a wound that I feel every day. We all feel it and we all regret it because we can't do anything else but feel and regret and perhaps say to each other If only...
The saddest words in any language.
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