I think about his death a lot. They said i should write when i feel things, write write, just write until all the feelings are passed onto the sheet. But that day, when i discovered, i didn't, i just couldn't. I was just paralyzed, looking at the screen of my laptop. I stared at the word. Suicide. He committed suicide. I don't know how he did it. I don't want to know. But he did.
I know we don't know each other personally but that really does not matter, that's not the point. I stood beside him, with all the others, fighting for the same cause, wearing the same color, shouting the same chants. I felt my surroundings, the colors inside the house, the sound of the fan, the lights flickering at my side, stopped. They all stopped. Altogether, they stopped being what they were and then nothing made sense.
I thought about his death today. Again.
No, not really about his death. Its about the moments right before it. Right before he decided to do it. I imagine his heart just sinking, or full of grief or maybe just hollow and empty. I imagine how helpless he was, how nothing could possibly save him, no, not now, not a single call or text, not a thing, it was all too late. I imagine him slowly but decidedly, surely, letting go of the delicate line of his life.
It's too noisy and just too loud. Imagine how enticed he was with the thought of quiet, of peace, of nothingness.
my heart cannot comprehend the hurt that must be feeling by those who were close to him, his family, his friends, his orgmates. i hope he is well now. i hope he found the peace and the quiet.