Kinda Depressed

Vinnie

Well, ya see.. I'm not the author. But I was told I could work on the stories for multiple reasons so hi. I'm Vin.
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People see me as happy. And I am, alot of the time. I am human though and I do have down times. But I've been worse.

I used to live in the dark. The fear. I used to only be happy when I had a singular person around. I based my happiness on them.

But I wasn't a part of their fantasy, they treated me like shit but I still pursued them. I loved them more than I thought a person could love.

And he gave that love to the other girls. Because apparently he just had so much love, he had some to spare.

I never mentioned anything though. For he was fragile. He had issues with his father who called him worthless and a disgrace. I think that's why he did it..

His father thought I was the best thing since Peta bread. He would always speak of how he wished he could throw my boyfriend at my mother and take me instead because "it's not like your mother cares about you anyways"

He was right though, my mother didn't care. But I never spoke when he made these statements right in front of my boyfriend...

His name was Jamie. Jamie had my heart and all he gave back was a couple bruises and a cause to cry for.

He was always depressed. But not in the beginning of this..

He used to caress my cheek and tell me how much I meant to him. We would have the wars of how much we love each other but over time the joy in his eyes I had miraculously gotten there faded. After a while I would appreciate just a smirk. He got to a point where he would rarely hug me. And he responded strangely when I kissed his cheek before I left his home..

Soon enough he removed all of my sketches of us from his walls and our prom photos. Even just the random doodles. It's like he removed every trace of me from his room.. like I'd never been there.

He wasn't the Jamie I'd met in high school. He wasn't him. He was a completely different person. But I never mentioned it. I didn't want to ruin Estes's left in hope that maybe he would come back.. how dumb of me..

Eventually one day, I guess, it hit him what all he's lost. Atleast that's what I gathered from the note.

I've never enjoyed violence.
I've never liked death.
Who does?

But now I can't ask him all of my questions...
He's gone...
But he kept them..
All of them...
In a couple of converse boxes in the top of his closet in the ceiling... they were all there... every sketch.
The photos

Us.

I was still there. But there was another box... the side of him I knew was there but had no proof til now..

Art pencils, art pads, sketch books, all in this bigger box.. with.. with steel for slicing through pain and betrayal. Steel I've seen so often in my own room and a lighter and cigarettes...

Poetry and apology notes in different inks and hasty fonts. Written fast and slow some revised so often eraser had torn through the page... he was here...