Unsaid Things by Lesley Whyte

Picture the scene. It shouldn't be hard, it's one you've seen hundreds of times before. On TV, in movies. Probably not in real life. A graveyard. A day that's not too bright and sunshine-y, but it's not raining or overcast either. A funeral, the whole shebang - glossy casket, big-ass hole in the ground, guy in black robes reading something from the Bible.

There are people there, not many but still a better turnout than anyone would have expected. Sure, for most of them the alternative was an afternoon of AP chemistry, so the funeral of their classmate is a lot more appealing, but still. They didn't have to be there. The dead girl's parents are there, too - one of them openly weeping, the other silent. Stony-faced. Which one does which varies, but here the father is crying. The mom is holding it together.

A young guy steps up to the casket, attractive and athletic, a jock. You know him. He's the type of guy the girl in the box would never have stood a chance with. Guys like that don't date girls who take AP chemistry. He carries a rose and sets it down on top of the casket and he whispers, so quiet that nobody else can hear him.

"I wish I'd had the courage to ask you out, to tell you how amazing you are."

My reaction? I fucking wish you had, too.