Death and Tears

No, not taxes. Taxes mean nothing to me at fifteen years old. But tears do. Tears mean a lot to me. Tears, which you may have noticed, I've color coded. Lately my tears are because of death. No, no one died. But I've been thinking about it. It all started with a chair. No I'm lying, it didn't start with a chair at all, I just wanted to make that reference. It all started with a dream, or I suppose you could say a phone call, but let's go with the obvious route, which is the dream. The dream where Jake died. The most terrible dream I can remember having as of late. I woke up with my pillow soaked, it tasted like salt, and I was still crying. Then, it all came back with a phone call (no, not the previously mentioned one). I was supposed to explain what I would do in the 24 hours after Jake died. What would I do? I would crumble. This may have been the first time on the phone that I just sat there, crying, for 10 minutes. Tears, just falling tears. I don't even know what color they would be. Blue or blood red? No one actually died, so would they be qualified as death tears? Would they be some weird purple color because they are sadness and death? I don't know. But death is on my mind and it won't die away. Pun half intended.
I want to shower.
But I'm afraid.
I'm afraid to shower alone.
I would crumble.
Just lay at the bottom of the tub.
Water about my ears.
I need to shower.
But can I face the drowning water alone?
Why is the water drowning me? Why can't I get this hypothetical thing off my mind? I don't want to think about someone I love disappearing forever. I don't want to think about me sitting there calling them knowing they could never answer. I don't want to think about me in a ball in the middle of B hall waiting for the day to be over. I don't want to think about never being able to hear his voice again.
I love to hear his voice in my ear.