Welcome, this is the first and last time I will acknowledge you. But since you decided to read a diary that wasn’t yours, I figure you ought to read it right and not just rumbling through with no direction.
1. Every story is connected, don’t just rush to the middle. You’re better than that.
2. I have suffered tragically and as a result have cursed this book. If you continue reading, you shall be cursed too.
3. Now that the fun bits are done.
4. Proceed at your peril.
He died, finally. I don’t know, whether to be relieved or angry. But why is it always anger when we both knew this was inevitable.
I don’t even know what to write at this point. I promised him I would write. Since I don’t know heavens email, my only hope is that they have internet and he can read this.
Mum had the job of telling me the grim news. She looked more worried about me falling over and dying at the news than she was with the actual contents of the news.
Figures, she always said our relationship was unhealthy. Must be contagious judging from the looks I’ve been getting lately. Tomorrow worries me. I can deal with the looks but not without the distractions of burial. I have to face the world without him. All by myself.
He…He spoke about tomorrow like it was inevitable. Talked about it, like he had a plan, a secret scroll, heck I’d take a message in a bottle right now. I feel like I can’t survive. Even though I promised.
But without him I am not strong enough for this. This might just be a suicide note, I’m not sure yet. If there is nothing left to read then take care for it feels like there is nothing left for me.
You don’t get it, he was beautiful. I assume this is the part where I sound like an addict. But I promise you, once I had tasted him, I could thirst for no other. So yes maybe I was addicted. That’s a dead dream now.
I got a call from his mother earlier today, telling me she would like to chat with me. When she opened the door I noticed she looked worse than I felt.
As I passed her, making my way inside the house, she looked like she had pried open the door and was using the door handle for support. I wanted to hug her just then but for fear of becoming an emotional puddle on what was already a drenched floor and so I restrained myself.
I had to walk back to the door where I found his mother ten minutes later in a pool of despair. How could I not melt also. We stayed on that floor by the door crying and hugging until his father found us several hours later and pried us from the puddles we became by the door.
I felt like for once I understood his struggle perfectly. Not being able to walk past his doors unaccompanied must be a terrible way to live. Maybe that’s why he always prepared me for life without him.
When I made it back home, I decided not to hide in my room as I always did. I looked worse than I felt after being a pool of despair all afternoon and that made my mum very happy. Finally showing some emotion she said with a hearty laugh as she tied my natural hair into a bun. It looked terrible.
Everything was tangled together with no space for separation. I now had the mind to cut my hair off. But my mother wouldn’t allow it. You don’t cut your hair while you’re emotionally unstable she kept saying.
I know she means well, but this hair is now a reminder of him. He loved to play with my hair while we sat in silence, me minding my own business and him evidently minding mine.
I was bonding with my mum, which doesn’t happen as often anymore. So when I remembered that he had left me a letter, I dreaded the thought of opening it alone and crying into my pillow. Waking up the next morning and having to pretend I had it all figured out.
I had to ask my mum if she could read it aloud for me. The letter, as it shall forever be referred to, left me weak at the knees and I was sitting down. I broke down in front of my mum and clearly me in a pool is not a good look cause mum asked me to spend a few nights in her room.
Just so she would sleep at night knowing I wasn’t doing anything careless under her watch.
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