Suicide Notebook (U-KISS)

Chapter 1

19/7/2013

I hate this.

I hate you.

I don’t like doing this at all.

I hate you, you goddamn suicide notebook

I’m calling you my suicide notebook, because you’re the only person, thing in this case, that I can talk to (write, more like) without any commenting. No consoling, no judging. Nothing.

I don’t need any of that.

I’ve known long enough that none of it is real.

Smiles.

Laughter.

Love...

That last one… Total bullshit.

No-one will be able to see what I’ll write anyways; they’re too scared to try. Also, they're stupid, because they'd never be able to think outside the box and realize that an invisible ink pen would be my best friend, though it is an inanimate object.

If anyone would find out, however, they would probably be in the skies watching me; they’d be watching with pity, or scrutinizing what I’m doing, not that I’d care anyways.

So why am I writing on your pages?

Well, not saying a single word for seven years kind of makes you forget how to speak; how to pronounce words, I mean. My words probably wouldn't even be words, because my tongue would turn into the equivalent of melting ice.

Honestly, I wouldn’t even be writing in here at all if what happened seven years ago didn’t happen, but it did. It just had to.

People would think that writing in a book instead of going to counseling would be stupid. Heck, they’d think counseling is stupid in general.

But for me, it’s the only thing that can save me from the willing urge to see her again.

She wouldn’t want me to be like this.

Back to the invisible ink (I don't even know how I can go off topic so suddenly either); this means that my thoughts are for you, and only you, to read, or see or... Whatever.

Don't feel so flattered though.

I still hate you.

You goddamn suicide notebook.