I've held your very thoughts in my hands.
They twinkled like the stars and were just as brilliant.
Some were sprinkled with glass and barbed wire.
Those were my favorites.
Some of them were made of clouds and packaged, processed love.
I didn't like them as much, they were expected.
The darkest parts of you were my favorite.
I wanted the real you, the one made of razor blades and painted smiles.
That side of you is the one that caused you to leave.
To leave me.
Suicide isn't easy.
But you sure made it seem that way.