I had a locket when I was younger. It was silver, maybe gold. The years have erased those memories of my childhood which was so bright. I suppose I grew up too fast, facing death, looking in its eyes. They were cold just like my locket, though its not mine anymore. I suppose some young girl found it laying in a puddle in the middle of the street, shining, gleaming, perfect. She's probably wearing right now. She probably took out the picture of him and put in one of her own sweetheart. The pictures probably torn and ruined, sitting in a pile of junk. You probably can't even see his smile anymore.

Sixteen years have gone by in a flash, it feels like just yesterday I was following my mother around, clinging to that locket instead of her hand. I remember the day she gave it to me. It was sometime in December, maybe January. She sat me down in the pink recliner and took my hand in hers, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind my ear. I remember her smile. She told me she had a present and I waited patiently, too shy to be impatient. She handed me the little box and I opened it slowly, afraid. The locket lay there, closed and perfect. I remember how it felt against my skin, weighing me down. It felt like a hundred pounds and yet I didn't know I'd lost it until a year ago. I remember placing that picture of him in there, closing it, placing it near my heart. And this year I cry thinking about that picture being thrown away.

That locket was perfect. It was cold and beautiful. As I grew older I took it off to wear other necklaces. I can't believe I took it off. And now sitting here on this blue leather couch, the gleam of christmas lights reflecting against my pale skin, I feel that weight against my heart. I grew up too fast. I shouldn't have placed that picture in there. I shouldn't have let death look me in the eye.

It's been a year since those cold eyes looked at me. It's been a year since I've held that locket in my fingers, twisting it back and forth out of habit. It's been a year since I've held his hand and drove around aimlessly looking at christmas lights.
I had a locket when I was younger. It was silver, maybe gold. That doesn't matter though because it was perfect unlike me but so much like my childhood. So much like him.

It's weird that I lost the locket the day I lost him. Death like I said, leaves someone on the other side, aching and crying. I remember the kiss to my cheek and his cold hands. He was so cold. So dead. So like that perfect locket.

I didn't loose the locket. I was walking away from that house when I ripped it off my neck, cutting my delicate skin. I threw in that puddle and I walked away. And now that aching feeling has returned, the crying has never stopped and that one hundred pound weight around my heart is slowly but steadily killing me. Soon I'll be as dead as him, metaphorically of course, because apparently not even the strongest love can kill me. Not even the sweetest kind of murder can save me now.

Why is life so unfair that loved ones are taken away from us! Tell me, no tell us! Tell the people that have lost everything because of you death. Come out from the shadows and face the light. Is death even deadly? Is death even real? I've never seen him. I've only seen his twin, my locket, my love.