stars

three

i thought the whole 'breaking the news' thing was bad. it wasn't.

i hadn't eaten in two days. i was nauseous and exhausted yet couldn't seem to sleep. my eyes stung from the tears that wanted to spill and my troat was sore from trying to hold it in. and i didn't understand.

i hadn't seen him in three days by then. and i was growing desperate. i wanted to scream and throw a fit because all i really wanted was to go over to his place and hug him again, but i couldn't, because the stupid, unavoidable difference between life and death was preventing me from reaching out for all i ever wanted.

the doctors said it was a heart attack, and i never felt as stupid as i felt then. i noticed. i told him to be careful, but that of course wasn't enough, because what was the boy who avoided bothering anyone at all costs going to do when he thought that he was just experiencing minor discomfort?

i should have made sure. but i didn't. because i didn't want to push him away. well, great job, me. now he's gone forever, and sorry isn't going to get him back like it might have if i had just done the right thing.

they said it was hereditary, but stress was the main cause, and yes, i was guilty of that too. putting stress on him over graduation, over college, and there was the nausea returning because of my guilt.

i honestly believed nothing would get better. it was all i could think about. because above all the guilt and regret was just pure sadness that came from missing him so fucking much. i missed him. i ached for him to be with me in any shape or form. but he couldn't be, and it hurt more and more.