I first saw her walking down a corridor with a boy whom I wished was mine. There was a certain prowess to her step, as if she was a predator treading on conquered battlefield. She was calculated but vigorous, a hailstorm in the midst of September droughts. He was laughing at something she'd just said and his laughter rang through the corridor. Her pleasure was controlled with only a trace of a smile on her face. Looking at her swaying her hips, head tilted slightly, large eyes disconcerted, it seemed to me as if she had everything in the grip of her palms -- confidence, wit and his caramel coloured hand.

She was everything I wished I was.

Today, I walk the garden where your body lies decaying beneath the dandelions and daffodils you had brought to life with your calloused fingers and careful heart. I trample over them the way you had destroyed me when you decided sunshine and blue skies were not for you. They wither, and I watch -- then I remember the noose around your neck.

Had I smothered you? Did I kill you?

God, I'm so sorry.