You were beautiful. Not in the old-fashioned, high cheekbones, heart-shaped face, slender figure, soft and flowing hair sort of way. No. You were beautiful in your own quirky, kind-hearted, sweet way. You always smiled at me from across the hallway and gave that wave that no one else could ever imitate. You were always happy and I couldn’t ever figure out why. You said hello to everyone and spoke to them as if they were important to you. You smiled, no matter what. But you were also annoying, super clingy, awkward and idiotic. And you were a familiar face in a sea of people I didn’t know.
Maybe that is why I did what I did. Maybe that is why I thought it was okay to do what I did. I didn’t realise it was wrong. I didn’t realise it would hurt your feelings. I know it’s too late now. I should have said something earlier. Or did something. Maybe told an elder about it. Or spoken to you, told you I was sorry and didn’t mean to do what I did. But I didn’t. I was scared. I was so goddamned scared even though I knew I’d get what I deserved.
I know it’s too late but I need you to know that I’m sorry. And that I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t know that it would hurt you so bad. I thought that this was fun. Fucked up, I know.
But now you’re gone. And nothing I say can bring you back. I messed up with you so bad, you didn’t want to live anymore. Or maybe I was just one of the reasons why. Maybe I was what started it. Or maybe I was what pushed you over the edge.
But there were no signs. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. If I had looked closely, maybe I would have seen the sadness you hid so well. I’m sorry I didn’t look. I’m sorry I didn’t realise. I’m sorry I fucked you up so badly, you didn’t even leave a note explaining why. You didn’t want anyone to get a closure.
I know nothing I say will bring you back but I just wanted you to know how fucking sorry I am. I killed you. I killed your spirit. I killed your will. I killed your soul.
And I’m sorry.
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Don’t hesitate to call. Nobody deserves to die like this.