Just imaging the smudged ink on crumpled paper sends me into tears. I calm myself down then I read my name after Dear. I continue this time, but it only gets worse. I don't want to smile but you always had a way with words, I mean, you have a way with words. If you thought complimenting me through it all would make it better, you were wrong and you knew it. My leaking eyes soak up every word like it's rain in the desert. As I reach the last page your wishes swim in my mind, and it kills me. Three hundred and sixty five days ago was only a year and I can't believe I could have held this in my hand. The thought you had, thoughts and time you put into something so stupid, so impossible yet so real. I finally read your name and can't explain how good it feels to talk to you about your own fucking suicide note. You try to laugh it off but it's not funny. And just when I think I'm calm I see your mom walking toward me with tears in her eyes and paper in her hands. I'm already crying, oh, help I'm going to drown. I can't do this. Why did you do this?

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Wasn't going to publish this but I thought someone needed to read it.