I told you that you were loved and you didn't believe me.
What made you think that I didn't love you?
What made you believe that you were a lost cause?
Who the **** told you that you weren't good enough?
I want to know.
More so, I want to wrap the noose around his neck BEFORE he touched you,
Before you got the chance to wrap it around yours.

Ever since you left, I have suffocated underneath your death.

I do not sleep with blankets on anymore because I can not stay warm knowing that you are lying cold in the ground.

I no longer open up my windows and let the let shine in because I know that you are drowning in the darkness.

I can not put my hands to the steering wheel and drive because I will never be able to let go of the day that we stole that blue minivan and tried to get away.

I just want to know why you didn't tell us what was wrong.
I want to know why we weren't there.
I want to know why the last words that escaped were: "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

When you're gone? When you're gone? You can't be gone. I won't believe that you are gone, that your beautiful body is buried somewhere beneath the dirt when you deserved to stand on stars.

I want to know why you didn't leave me a ******* note, some type of ******* answer.

Because now, I'm stuck. I am stuck, and I am haunted by your ghost. I am missing every bit of you.

I am missing your voice.

I am calling you. Please come back to me.

Your voicemail.

"Hey, it's Meagan! Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

But you're NOT getting back to me. Sometimes I pretend that you will.

Did you know that I would be broken without you? That these needles are the only thing that can possibly puncture me enough to make me feel again?

Did you know that whenever anything goes wrong, my first thought is: "If only she were here"

When you left, you took every bit of hope from me.
When you left, you took my will to live.
When you left, when you left, when you left,
WHAT made YOU think I was strong enough to handle THIS?!

It's been seven months. I am not sure I can make it seven more.

I have become filled with you, your sweet little laugh,
and the stupid ******* jokes you played.

It was not a joke when you hung yourself.
No one laughed; no one dared make the slightest of sounds.
We held our breath and danced with candles until the moon in itself faltered and fell down.