It's not surprising that I would place you under that name is it?
Oh I'm getting predictable.
I could literally sense the excitement, not necessarily good signs though, about reading this. True, as I have said it before, this is what I truly think of you.
Let's go back to that night, shall we? When we first talked? I know, it was just an ordinary conversation, but somehow it wasn't, to me. Somehow, I know I will keep talking to you for much longer than I would expect myself to. Call it an intuition or something of such kind. You know why? 'Cause I actually caught myself laughing aloud reading your messages. That is one thing that has never, ever happened before. You actually sounded like a normal, outgoing, humourous guy, and it got me wondering why you were so different at class. Cold and isolated, that's what people said.
You intrigued me. Which was strike #1. I decided to research further on you.
So I made us talking look like a habit. I won't even bet on your ability to tell that I gave you my watch the other day when the class was making pizzas and all, because I wanted you to messaged me first. It worked wonderfully, and I proceeded to find myself thinking I had not got such a blast talking to someone in a while. For an ordinary person with no sense of hunour whatsoever like me, having someone as animated as you was like a spring breeze. New and fresh and amazingly foreign in every way possible. But the shocking part actually lies in what we talked about. Yes, them perverted stories. I had never felt anything other than disgust towards girls who actually discussed freely about the subject, so I had never made one joke about it. But when I talked to you, I was literally another person, you know, more teenagelike. And as shameful as it is to admit, I actually enjoyed myself. You pulled me out of my comfort zone.
But then it hit. The death. I don't even know why the very first name that popped up in my mind the moment the first tear rolled down my face was yours. Naturally, you became my comforting shoulder. I was so hasty to befriend you that I became dependent on you, sadly. But there wouldn't be any of this if you didn't tell me your story. The last time you cried. It was a moment to be carved forever in history, that you, out of all people actually opened up to me just to stop my tears from falling. It was a privilege to see that side of you that I had always known existed. I know, it shouldn't have been a big deal. But to me, it was. For the first time, someone actually cared enough to share a part of their lives with me. It might sound ridiculous, but you got me that moment. All a girl wants was just a little appreciation.
For such a long time, we habitually talked in the most random ways. But sandwiched in those seemingly meaningless conversations, was stories to be told. About you and me. Family. Hobbies. Past. Eveything. You were never one to take the lead, but not once did I feel like I was talking alone those days. It got even more serious when I started to plan subjects ahead. Because it meant that you had find a way to "mean something" to me. That was how those sentimental, emotionally wrecking questions were born. My intention to place you on my "best gay friend" list was replaced by something fatal called "feeling".
I couldn't just shake it off. I broke down in tears multiple times doing it, honestly. I was so scared of getting attached. Of feeling something and not getting anything in return. Of hurting people in the process.
And most importantly, I knew that no matter what would happen, it wouldn't last. It never lasts.
But let's get to the part when you saved me from killing myself, 'cause I think we have had enough background information.
Because our late-night conversations were what kept me up smiling and not crying. Because you solved my problems in a way nobody ever could. And most importantly, because you made me feel I was worth this life.
Do you know why I kept going back and forth deactivating and then reactivating my facebook account? I wanted nothing more than minimized contact with the outside world, I enjoyed drowning myself in suicidal thought and the pain from my cuts, much more than tasteless conversations with people who pitied me and those who didn't understand me a bit. They could have tried, but they never did. But you, you actually made an effort to do so. Our conversations were actually nothing short of memorable to a point that at my lowest low, I reread it and then laughed to myself. Laughters are excellent pain alleviation, and strangely, I even started to memorize it, walking on the street and smiling about it.
Before I realized it was too late to go back, it became those weird idiotic smiles people put on when recalling people to whom they want to make a special connection. Strike #2.
You know what, I had always admired you. Not because of your intelligence, just who you are. Fearless enough to raise your voice and speak out to the world. I have never been close to anyone that genuinely different for a while. Until now, you remain a walking mystery. One that I was willing to solve at all costs, but knew I would fail in the process. Oh well, at least it kept me from leaving my mind bleak and making way for the depressing thoughts to fill up. At times, I felt like I didn't deserve to have you so close to me, and so I realized that if I had not manage to be as good a human as you are, or even half as good, then I definitely should not be dead.
When it first hit me that I liked you, I told Anne that "Ugh. I don't like you. You just make me happy, that's all." But God knows how much happiness meant to me at that horribly difficult stage of my life. I knew it was not hard to make you like me back, but nevertheless, I couldn't bring myself to do it intensely. Our friendship was short enough to be considerd fragile.
But then, I missed you. I forced myself to stop emailing you to be that dedicated girl and study my ass off. But I missed you. There were times when I cried for no reason, just hoping somehow you would comfort me though it was impossible. You had no idea how much self-control I gained to refrain from messaging you. I literally went crazy to be honest.
After all, you were a habit I would not want to give up on.
Then you said the word. Then I nodded. Then I was under even more pressure and this time, I kept silent. Only told you the most necessary, or just the storyline. The feelings were what I kept to myself. Because it's what they do to their special ones. Trying to keep up to the image they have set up. The last thing I wanted you to feel was that I was annoying as fuck.
But again, this is the story about how you saved me.
Our relationship saved me. 'Cause I figured should I end my life, you would go to another person. That Scorpio inside me slapped me hard when the thought suggested itself. You were mine, and I never share. Ever. You were my best friend, my brother, and something as close to as boyfriend as an anti-attachment girl was gonna get.
I don't know what the future will be. I just want to thank you for colouring my last months in middle school. I ,now we are soon to part, but making memories with you has been the most guilty and at the same time, amazingly addicting thing I have eve got myself into.
Thank you, for keeping my thoughts alive. For teaching me about the cruel world in the most obivous ways.
Thanks. A lot.
P/S: Erm in answer to your unsaid wonders why I didn't write this in your note: Memories are best when kept inside one's mind. Words cannot be resummoned. I want you to memorise me in your words, so that the impression never fades away, and that you can have control over how to process the memories. Fifteen years from now, I will still be that girl. And not someone who has left or anything.
Thank you again. I wish I could keep you forever, but forever is indeed a really long time.
At least, now you have the chance to proudly say that you, have saved a life.
Your truly,
Areana.
