Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy
I guess it's true. you never really know how great something is untill it's gone. expecially if it, well in my situation, they, are gone for good. I just can't get him out of my head. It seems like every time i close my eyes, i can see his face, and how terrified he was when the car started to spin out of control. I see him passed out beside me in the car, blood running down his head. I see him in the hospital, covered in bruises, IV's in his arms, a heart monitor on his finger, and several other tubes and wires for who knows what. Then I always think of when he woke up. He looked at me in the chair beside his bed, and saw the bruises and cuts all over my arms in face, the cast around my leg, and his eyes immeadiatly filled with tears. "Abbi, i'm so sorry," he barley whispered, "I love you, baby." a tear rolled down his cheek. And then he closed his eyes. "I love you too, Petey," i'd said "more than the world."
That was the last time I was ever able to look into his beautiful brown eyes. The last time i'd get to hear the voice that always made my heart skip a beat. The last time he'd ever tell me he loved me, and the last time i'd get to tell him. And the worst part, is that i have to relive that hundreds of times in my mind every day, and relize hundreds of times, that he's no longer here. All of the pictures are off the walls, and the ones on the tables are turned over. I've moved all of his clothes out of our closet, and into the spare room, along with his bass. None of that seems to help though. Every time I lay down to go to bed, I can smell him. And every night after i cry my eyes out, i dream of him, and all the great times we had together. The first time he kissed me, when he proposed, when we picked out the house, and then what our wedding would've been like. Then I always wake up in tears, thinking that if the wedding was on a different date, and not valentines day like I'd insisted, he might still be here. If I hadn't begged him to have the wedding that soon, we wouldn'y have been going to pick out a cake that night, and if I'd gotten ready quicker, it wouldn't have been as dark, and he probably would've seen the ice on the road. Even though I've been told by dozens of people that it's not my fault, and that it was just a tragic accident, I'd still rather think that it is my fault. The love of my life is gone forever. I need some one to hate, and that some one is myself.
Two days later Abbrigale Thompson was found dead in her home by her neighbor. She had purposley overdosed on several drugs. 'Abbrigale Wentz' was written on her arm in pen, and she was holding a picture of her fiancé, Peter Wentz, to her chest. A double funeral was held for Abbrigale and Peter, and the couple were burried side by side in Memorial Park Cemetery on Febuary 14, which would've been the day of their wedding. The name engraved on Abbrigale's grave stone was 'Abrigale Wentz'.
That was the last time I was ever able to look into his beautiful brown eyes. The last time i'd get to hear the voice that always made my heart skip a beat. The last time he'd ever tell me he loved me, and the last time i'd get to tell him. And the worst part, is that i have to relive that hundreds of times in my mind every day, and relize hundreds of times, that he's no longer here. All of the pictures are off the walls, and the ones on the tables are turned over. I've moved all of his clothes out of our closet, and into the spare room, along with his bass. None of that seems to help though. Every time I lay down to go to bed, I can smell him. And every night after i cry my eyes out, i dream of him, and all the great times we had together. The first time he kissed me, when he proposed, when we picked out the house, and then what our wedding would've been like. Then I always wake up in tears, thinking that if the wedding was on a different date, and not valentines day like I'd insisted, he might still be here. If I hadn't begged him to have the wedding that soon, we wouldn'y have been going to pick out a cake that night, and if I'd gotten ready quicker, it wouldn't have been as dark, and he probably would've seen the ice on the road. Even though I've been told by dozens of people that it's not my fault, and that it was just a tragic accident, I'd still rather think that it is my fault. The love of my life is gone forever. I need some one to hate, and that some one is myself.
Two days later Abbrigale Thompson was found dead in her home by her neighbor. She had purposley overdosed on several drugs. 'Abbrigale Wentz' was written on her arm in pen, and she was holding a picture of her fiancé, Peter Wentz, to her chest. A double funeral was held for Abbrigale and Peter, and the couple were burried side by side in Memorial Park Cemetery on Febuary 14, which would've been the day of their wedding. The name engraved on Abbrigale's grave stone was 'Abrigale Wentz'.
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