desolation

the end

as the darkness washed over her, she forgot what had happened.
she forgot what she had done.
the girl was fooled by her tired eyes and slowing breathing.
she was certain she was falling asleep.
she prepared for the
nightmares to come.
they didn't.

what came was so much worse.
what came was nothing.
what came was the end.
sure, so many stories and deaths
are romanticized by meaningful
last words or thoughts.
this is not one of those false stories. this is not one of those deaths.
to be honest, her last thoughts
were probably of fear and dread, because that's what her
thoughts gave her.

so many people want
death to be glorified.
for the dead to be remembered
as they were at their best,
their "golden age" in life.
suicides are not glorious.
ending one's own life is a tragedy,
and a far too common one.

"she was such a happy girl,"
they will say.
but she wasn't,
because if she were happy,
none of us would be
standing in a graveyard.

"i never knew anything was wrong," they will say.
but they didn't know because
she made it so.
she smiled and laughed and faked it all.

"she will be remembered, none of us could ever forget her,"
they will say.
but she will be forgotten
as time passes.
and that is sort of thing you say when someone dies.
oh, sorry, "passes away."

there will be a few people who don't say those things.
there are those few friends who knew.
who know.
they know how long
she had been like this.
they know why
she was like this.
they know and they wish
they didn't because now she's gone. she's gone and they still know
and nothing can fix what happened. they will miss her most of all,
and she knew that.

once, on a late night of secrets
and shared pain,
she told her best friend something.
"i made myself promise
that if i ever tried to kill myself,
first i would write a letter to the
people that meant something to me."

she kept to the promise;
she wrote them each a letter
of absolute truth and explanation. there were 10 letters.
for the best friend,
the (ex)boyfriend,
the listener,
one for each of the trio,
her mom,
her dad,
her little brother,
and for the general public.

she urged them to do what
they wanted with the letters.
on the envelope,
she warned them of the darkness
embedded in her story.
they all read their letters
to the end.
they all missed her and cried.
and maybe
she could see them.
if she could, she missed them
and cried too,
because leaving them was
the hardest part.