I wanted it to not be true. I wanted it to not be true so much I could taste it.
"He's not gone." I bore it into my memory until I feel myself screaming it.
"He can't be gone, no, he was my best friend.". I scream at my plain yellow daisy walls.
It all happens so fast I can't grasp it in time. The knife is in my hand, and nothing. Just nothing. It's all dark and misty. It feels like I'm floating on a cloud. Almost like I was... sleeping?
"How?", you ask yourself as if your inner body knows the answer to all of your problems.
"I just had the knife... did I use it? Maybe I am just asleep right now. God, I want to be asleep."
