Why She Jumped

January 1st, 2013

I awoke to my mother sobbing on the side of my bed. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew it was important. It was 2 am when we received the second call from your parents that night. My father stopped driving while my mother answered.

We sat in the car, halfway between the hospital and our home, crying until the sun rose.

You had jumped, landing head first on the ground in front of the abandoned building where we always met. 

For a while I thought you must have been getting better, we had stopped sitting up on the roof for months. But I realize now that that was the only way you could keep yourself alive. You had gotten worse. If I had met you upon that roof once more, you would not have made it home again. You had gotten worse. My love had not healed you; it had only reminded you what you had been missing.

Your departure cut us like glass. Scarring our hearts as if they were your arms. I know you did not mean to hurt us, but Amelia, I have never felt pain as great as this.