Now You Know Me.

Dear Will.. It feels like forever.

I know this is the third day you've been gone.. Dead gone.
Part of me isn't doubting the suicide anymore.
Part of me wonders how long you really were gone before you died.
Were the days leading up to it mundane? Were they devoid of emotion? Were you wishing that you were dead?
I wonder if you were scared. If you were nervous. If you planned it all, if you wrote a note to your sister and family. Did you feel the need to leave? What was killing you so much that you had to kill yourself?
I'll never really know.
Not ever.
I wish you could tell me what it's like, the moments after you died.
But you can't, so I should just stop asking.
You know how I said that I see you in my head, your face in place of another dead person's? It's still there. Now I see a body, too. A normal shirt that a boy from our grade would wear. Normal pants. I'm partially glad that I didn't look to see what you were wearing when we got off of school that Tuesday. Some answers just make things worse . I don't know what to do. I've talked to someone anonymously, but I can't put things into words.
Why, why, why.
All I've ever wanted to know.
I'm greedy for explanations, even when it's best for me not to get them.
I keep telling myself that.
What do I do now?
Maybe write your mom a letter expressing sympathy? Saying she can talk to me?
Why would she talk to a twelve year old about her problems? She'll probably think I'm too young to really understand.
I'm not, but she'll never know, I'm sure.
I wonder what you would've done with your life.
I've got to get all of these 'I wonder' questions out of my head. The potential is eating me up inside.
Potential.
Potential.
Potential.
I think I'm going crazy. You know the feeling, right?
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to join you.
Then I'd get answers.