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Imagine...
After Hannah killed herself it was like I too became a ghost to my parents. Like they saw me but didn't at the same time. Maybe it was because we looked similar, from the same frizzy brown hair that framed our faces to the look in our eyes as we smiled.
Home became just a roof over my head, somewhere to stay during the cold nights of loneliness. School was worse, every 5 minutes somebody coming up to me and say "I'm sorry for your loss" What good is sorry now? Or the teachers giving you those looks of pity in the hallway. Hannah killing herself had nothing to do with me... or did it. Maybe if I'd comforted her that night or just been with her she wouldn't have done it. If only I could turn back time maybe I wouldn't have heard my name over the static buzz of the stereo, her saying my name with such sadness almost begging for my help. But I didn't help her, I didn't save her and now my name can be repeated and repeated like a haunting call everytime that damn tape is played. Hannah was my family and now she was gone.
