Letters To Suicidal

s e v e n

December 20, 2006

Almost Christmas.

I haven't seen you in such a long time. I've never left any notes for you. I've been writing them everyday - keeping them hidden in my room and looking for enough courage to give them to you. Some days, I still see you by the brick wall. You'd sit on the bench, sit on the wall, lean on the wall, stop and stare at the wall.

I've missed leaving notes on the wall.

We've been exchanging notes for merely four days. But four days have been enough for me, because in those four days I've met someone, and that someone was you. In those four days I had my family. In those four days, I experienced friendship. In those four days, I experienced love.

It was so hard to run. Running away from you was so difficult because I didn't even know why I ran in the first place. And I feared not being able to see you again when I went back and saw you were no longer there. You left a note for me and I couldn't bring myself to reply. Two words. Two words I've never heard, or read, or seen.

It's been too long. On New Year, I might not be here anymore. It's all too sad - our story. We're such a sad story, but then again, a story can't happen if you can't learn to be sad.

I thought it was just a simple crush, at first. But then - I saw you. You were tall, and had grey eyes and brown hair. You left notes to a random stranger. You looked sad, but then you looked at me, and your eyes had that look of realization that made my heart flutter.

I'm falling for you.

You've been so much more than a rock. You've been so much more than a stranger. You're on my mind almost everyday. What are you doing? Where are you now? How are you feeling? How's life?

So many questions that I couldn't - wouldn't - hear the answer to.

I miss you. Maybe one day I'll leave all these letters on the wall. Maybe when I'm gone, my new landlord will stumble upon my letters and see them addressed to you, and send it to you. Maybe . . . maybe you'll never read them.

But then again, too many weird things have been happening.

This will be the last letter. No more writing, no more crumpled up pieces of paper. No more unsent letters. No more small smiles or questions.

It'll be over soon enough.

By the way, my name is Eumee.

"Hey."

Sweetly, Suicidal.