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This has very heavy topics. Please do not read if this will bother you! Read at your own risk. This is also just a test write so give feedback (if you'd like!)

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"... I found him last night... I'm sorry..." those words were ringing around in my brain and I couldn't make them stop. The words wouldn't stop echoing and pounding on my whole being since I'd heard them last week.

Ever since the news had struck me, my breath stopped in my chest whenever I spotted something that reminded me of him, how he laughed with me or how he would always know what to say or do. Everything reminded me of our time together and it was a wonderful yet horrible thing. I wanted to let him slip away from me and continue on in life, knowing that he wouldn't be the last but I couldn't. He was my first, my only. Memories hurt but they were the only thing I had left from him... and yet, and yet, each and every one from the past months showed signs but none had connected until it was too late. Way too late to help him from the path he'd been watching for months.

I should've caught what was happening. I should've told him what he meant to me. I wanted to reach for the phone that had sat silent and unmoving for days and talk to someone, anyone, but I knew there was no one I could go to. He had always been the one I would go to during times like this but now he was gone and I wouldn't see him again, never watch him as his nimble fingers drifted around an ordinary piece of paper to sketch out lovely and wonderous drawings and never see how his eyes lit up when he found something amusing or interesting.

The blinds in my room were drawn and would stay drawn for as long as I could keep them like that. Mother was worrying about me but I couldn't stand to sit there and talk to her, listen to her claim she knew exactly how I felt and that I should let it go and let the scars heal on their own. It infuriated me in a way I couldn't describe. The fact that they all patted me on the back, whispering it was okay, while it wasn't and it never would be, not without him to be by my side during the hardships that I knew were coming and yet... those hardships seemed like nothing compared to the deep pain in my chest that pounded and brought tears to my eyes whenever I let my mind wander for even a moment.

I wish I could've done more for him, more to make sure he was all right. I could've made more of an effort to put aside my own hobbies to go see him when he'd ask me to hang out. I knew we'd spent less time together in the past few months but I didn't want to accept that his leaving was partly my fault while, at the same time, I knew exactly what had been causing his distress.

I should've done more. I knew I could've, if I'd just caught the signs he'd been weakly showing for months. In the school hallways, he'd walk with his head down and only slightly perk up when I'd approach him. His texts had less exuberant emojis and his voice was quieter and less confident when he would deign to join conversations. I had no idea what was going on is what my brain loved to assure itself in a cycle that was fading as the hours went past. In the back of my mind, in the center of my heart, I could guess what was happening but I was just too scared to reach out and prove my suspicions right. It stressed me out and taking those last few steps to reach out and keep him from falling felt like jumping into a deep, black lake that either promised warm swimming water or a biting cold that could pull you under.

I wished I'd taken the plunge into the unknown waters because he was worth it. He was so worth it because, without him, I didn't know how I could possibly take steps away from the most important person in my life as if he hadn't just faded out unexpectedly. He had been my other half and, when he'd flickered out, he took that half with him and I felt torn and uncomplete.

The day after I'd received the news, Mother forced me to go to school because of 'an important science test' but it hurt more than I could possibly explain to anyone except my inner self. When I'd first stepped foot back into the school hallways, my first instinct was to pull out my phone and open up his contact to ask him where he was despite knowing exactly where he'd be waiting. I'd stopped myself mid-action and dragged my feet to my locker, head down and ignoring the whispers that followed me because they all had suspicions about someone none of them had ever talked to. My red-painted locker that was fading was always something I looked forward to but that day made a fissure spread in my chest. I would always find him waiting at my locker, sketchpad in hand and smile across his face but there was no one waiting for me when the locker came in sight so, instead of dropping off the unneeded books for classes after lunch, I breezed past my locker without looking back at it.

The next day, Mother didn't ask me to go to school and she didn't even come up to wake me for breakfast. She didn't walk into my room unannounced and open up my blinds for the entire week and I was thankful for it, in an odd way. Interacting with others seemed the most painful out of the whole experience. How was I supposed to talk to others as if I wasn't drowning in the feeling of being incomplete?

I rolled over and looked at the slits of light that were coming through the white blinds on my small window, knowing that, outside, the rest of society was bustling around and completing their daily tasks in a way that suggested nothing wrong because nothing was. None of them knew him and they certainly wouldn't care he'd gone. Of course they all had someone to grieve but I, I was the one currently wanting to crumble into a million pieces because the sinking feeling was taking over as the news dug itself into my being. I knew he was gone but I didn't want to accept it. I really, truly didn't want to, despite Father saying it would be best for my mental health.

My mental health could die in a hole for all I cared... plus, it already had so what was the difference?

I wished I could get up and face the problems head-on, especially because the thing I had been dreading was coming up the next day, but I couldn't do it. He and I had always heard stories about someone else's everything departing and we would imagine what we would do if the other slipped away. We both promised we would move on for the other, that we would be strong and cherish the memories but not let them drag them down. Oh, how simple it had sounded when we'd had that conversation but, now that I was living my worst nightmare, it didn't sound possible. How could I possibly be expected to let go and forget him?

I won't.

The thought struck me and I batted it away weakly. It seemed obvious but, at the same time, those two words started to wind itself into my thoughts in a deep way. I wouldn't forget him, I couldn't, and I would never let myself. I supposedly had a whole path ahead of me full of shining possibilities but I didn't want any of those futures if they didn't involve him. He couldn't be there, obviously, but I could, perhaps, join him.

I knew it was impractical, honestly, but it seemed so lovely in that moment that I unknotted the blankets that had slowly fallen halfway onto the ground and pulled them over myself, burying my face into my pillow, and imagined what would happen if I followed in his footsteps. Mother would be disappointed, obviously, and, after she was done grieving, she'd probably call me a childish 'lovestruck' teenager but she couldn't feel what I was feeling. He wasn't just the love of my life, he had been my best friend since we were young and he'd been there for everything. We'd shared the smallest secrets with each other and whispered truths that would've gotten us into big trouble if our parents found out about it. He wasn't just the most important person in my life, he was what completed me. If only I'd tried harder to hold onto the golden threads that we'd created when we were younger that held us together. I could've repaired the strings, checked on them more often, I could've done more for him. I should've done more for him. There were so many things I could've done but none of them seemed good enough and no apology I could claw out of my raspy throat that caused my heart to ache when I screamed it out would ever be sorry enough because it wouldn't make him come back. He couldn't come back. He wasn't coming back. He would never smile at me or tease me again and I had to live with that... or not.

I knew I would not be able to bear the loss of him for the rest of my life so... I wouldn't.

One more light would flicker out of the world the evening after his funeral.

No one would miss me, that was one thing I knew for sure.

The one who would was already gone.

Goodbye.

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