Hello there. By the time you are reading this, I would be gone away from you and everyone else to a place where nobody alive could see, hear or have known to exist. That place where everyone who had died may go to, the place where most living may fear, but not everyone, because for certain it might even be the place where they always sought after.

You and I, we’ve have both known, based on how long we’ve associated each other, that I had always been one of them; one of those who wanted to go to the place where the dead go, I mean. We have both known that I wanted to go there, be there before the impending darkness surrounding me would completely consume me. But what we both didn’t know for sure was whether, when you said that you could understand me, when you said you would fix me and hold me back from going there, you were being completely true to yourself. You didn’t know that. Maybe you did but I could never be so sure myself because your promises had only always been limited to your words. I don’t suppose that you knew anything about the reality though. I don’t suppose you could even imagine how much it hurt to wander in the looming, growing darkness, eyes closed, senses blinded and unaware of destinations. I don’t assume you ever even knew that the most difficult thing in life for me wasn’t living each and every day but surviving each of them through all the gruesome thoughts of dying.

I survived them, those dark thoughts of mine with earnest feelings of determination and being secured by the promises made. I had always anticipated them, the fixations, to have you fixing me and wiping away the tears which soundlessly fell against my will. And maybe you did, maybe you did fix me; although I’m not sure myself now. Nonetheless, I guess the brighter days I began to see, engulfed in the warmth of your kind words and attention truly pacified me. Maybe those were the days I really soughed after; the days you projected me your true capabilities. Maybe you were fixing me, maybe you were making my world better, becoming the biggest pillar to make me stand stronger to stand on my feet and on my own account. Maybe you were becoming the biggest support to me to be headstrong again, while you shouldered the burden of crumbling, shattering pieces of me. You were determined, you were strong; I liked that about you. Your determination, your (even the slightest) commitment to put together the shattered pieces of me, knowing or not knowing that your attempts might even be gone to naught.

And through the course of this, you made the biggest mistake of all; you got confused of whatever you felt towards me. Not only that, was it? You claimed it on and on to me as would one song on a broken vinyl disk. I don’t know which one of us was being a fool there, at that particular point. Was it me? Was it wrong to have believed you without questions? Was I wrong to have, in the same way, returned them? Or was it you, to have claimed it to be the truth, quite determined yourself that it was the truth indeed and even hold responsibility for it. I still am not sure of what was true there after all; whether what we felt were the genuine feelings, were true to our hearts or whether we were just being naïve as would another pair of our same-aged people would have. Whatever happened there at that particular point of time, I guess would only remain under the rocks, hidden among all the unsolved mysteries we shared; just like you were to me, after all this time, a mystery. Maybe just like I had been to you, if you could have doubted everything I had said to you.

But I guess how things turn out to be along the time is indeed inevitable, no matter how much we could have tried. It didn’t take long for me to realize that what we have been doing all that time, you and, I was merely lying to ourselves. Or maybe that was only on my part; I could never tell. Maybe only I had my thoughts so deeply enclosed in it. Maybe you weren’t as concerned as I were. Maybe you weren’t as committed to fixing me as I had thought. You had your own life after all, and it was surely way different from the crumbling, falling one of mine. So I guess, after all, the possibility is that you were lying to me. Because there wasn’t fixing things, there never were. All for the fact that I could not be fixed, all for the fact that I was a broken soul, broken beyond repair, there was never the possibility of fixing me.

And no, we never loved.

(At least, I know, you didn’t)

Though it isn’t the only factor which bequeathed me the reasons to do this, it was one of them; your fruitless attempts of fixing things. I’m certain that it never directly and completely contributed to my ill thoughts, but there was a part of me which trusted you, your perception; a part of me which believed that you were always right. It was this part of me which gave me the leeway to make such decisions, the part of me which you had, unwillingly yet perniciously have failed.

It was never your fault, honestly. It will never be your fault. I will never put you to that position. I will never do that to you. Because I know, though you have failed in my best judgement, it had never been your initial plan. You may have failed to fulfil your plans nonetheless, yet it isn’t my part to judge that sort of a thing. I was never in your plans to begin with. I was never supposed to turn up and hinder you from going on your designated way. I, a broken, forsaken soul has no plans, has no future endeavors, nor a future itself, to begin with. Unlike you who has a long way to look forward to. Maybe this is the point where I should be apologizing.

I am sorry, honestly. I never meant to be a burden to you.

(And you told me I never was. Was I right to have believed you?)

I never meant to take your kind words and (maybe honest) thoughts as granted, and I hope you don’t feel that way either, but I had to assume that all your attempts (regardless of being genuine or not) were only something you did since you believed it was your responsibility to save me, because you believed that I was your responsibility. I didn’t want to be that, I never was. And I really wanted you to change your mind about things, no matter whether you were honest about it or not.

The reason why I took my own life, trust my words, wasn’t you. If I begin to list down all the reasons why I made that one last, rash, life-repenting decision, it would take me three thousand pages and gazillion words to do so. Even if I do so, I don’t suppose I would be able to elucidate them very well. Let me present it in an easy-to-understand, in-a-nutshell manner, like they do in textbooks that we all pretended to be enthralled by back in school. If I put together all the reasons why I decided to take my life; the sense that it would give you is this. I never lived. I had, all through these twenty-something odd years, only spent the time, wandering the hapless world, as an empty shell, an empty soul. Never had I lived a life.

So tell me, (I suppose you would, had I been alive) what point is there in going on living if I knew what I had been doing wasn’t living after all? I was spending time surely. I was spending it very well. And it had been quite well endearing while it lasted, and I have no regrets; spending the twenty-something odd years I mean. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I hadn’t any regrets at all. Because I do. Many. The most prominent one of them would be having been born. The one that follows after is having spent twenty-something odd years and having survived.

The last and the one that will stay with me (and maybe you too) was having met you.

I regret it.  I really do.

Anyway, in case you didn’t already know, I hung myself down the flower arch in our lawn. I hadn’t told you about it. It’s the one around which the vines didn’t grow. The empty one. Rusted, old and only damp ropes which were to support the vines (Which never really grew) remained. This one plant which had lilac colored flowers grew on it for a little while, yet it died on it, the flowers never bloomed again. I believe that this arch represents my life very well, if there was one. However, it’s the arch I hung myself on, with a scarf which had a tiger print on it, on a rainy gloomy night while my parents and my cat slept soundly inside. I feel sorry for them. I honestly do. Only now I do so, though. Because at that time I hung myself that night, I really didn’t think they would be affected by it by any means. I didn’t think they would cry.

But, for some reason, I knew that you wouldn’t.

Before I forget to mention it, I saw you that day at the hospital while I lied in a coma, in bed. Being in a coma is this miraculous thing, I tell you. It’s like being dead to the world while being alive in a different dimension of time. I was there when you came into the room I was kept in, and you may or may not have believed it that I was still there and watching you. Ah, maybe you didn’t. You were human after all, like the rest of them.

You just watched me, and I couldn’t read between the lines of your emotions even if I tried to. Your eyes were cold and distant yet warm and so close at the same time. In that sense, you were just like me. You were there and then again you weren’t. That is one way of putting it I guess. You stood there for a moment, as though you were surprised, as though you were in disbelief. I really cannot say much, because you have always been that for me, a mystery. I made my assumptions, nevertheless. I hovered around you, like the ghost I was at that time. I looked into your eyes and saw the thousands of emotions etched in them. I couldn’t pick out one by one, I can’t say what I interpreted from what I saw is right or wrong either, I mean, it could have been anything. But I think I saw sadness in them, and maybe even disappointment. There was fear too, which was the most prominent emotion I could reach. I guess you didn’t think I would die like this, am I not right? You never believed that, though I had mentioned it so many times (And though you have told me not to) you just never believed my honest thoughts, that I would take my life. What was the reason, honestly? Did you think I hadn’t the strength to actually take such drastic measures? Or did you think your failing attempts of fixing things had actually succeeded? According to what I read in your eyes, it was the former, and I don’t know what you really have to say about the latter.

Was my hand cold to you when you touched it? You barely did so and you pulled away so soon as though I had electrocuted you. But yours was warm to me, when our hands met, and I cherish that warmth. It’s like the last string I’m holding on to, to have your presence still lingering around me. Even that briefest encounter means a lot to me. You searched in my face (through that mask and all the tubes and wires) as though I’d have my eyes open, looking into yours like we do when we have our sudden, brief and spontaneous meetings. Or did you expect me to open my eyes at your presence? At the presence of my king, my life savior? I’m not sure for which length you have saved my life though. I’m not blaming you either. The fault is all mine. You looked as though you were expecting me to speak to you, part the lips, now chapped, whitened and cold, to tell you that I would live and never fail you? I didn’t know what you were expecting of me at that time. Had I known, I would have complied with your wishes because that is how much you meant to me. But I did fail you, and so, maybe you were disappointed, maybe you were angry that, after all this time, I took all your commitments as granted and turned my back to you, ignored you and took my life.

Had it been avoidable though?

Could have I survived?

Would this whole ‘fixing things’ have been a success?

It’s been a long time since it started, yet here I am, dead and writing this.

So I guess not.

(But when you left the room that day, I wanted to come back to life and scream on the top of my life to hold you back, I wanted too, so much)

(That it killed me)

Anyway, I have died, and that is why you are reading this, because I have died. I saw you at the funeral, dressed in black and being beautiful as you always were. I saw it that you didn’t cry, but did I see your fists clenched? Did I see your knuckles whitened? Did I see that glint in your eyes like morning stars?

I should have taken a closer look and cleared all my doubts about you, but I was being buried, the prayers were being said and they were sending me away from you and everyone else, away from this world and hoping I would end up in a better place. I went away after one last look at you. Though I did, I hadn’t regrets of leaving you. It was with my better judgement that I did. I was a broken person anyway, and you were better off without me.

I don’t know where I am now. Is it heaven? Or hell? Or purgatory? I have no idea myself. All I know is that it’s stiff and cold and dark, I can see nothing at all, and I am alone. So utterly alone than I have ever been.

Furthermore, though I hate to admit this, though my pride isn’t allowing this, I will admit to you the truth one last time.

I miss you.

I miss you to heaven and back.

I miss your laughter, your words, and kindest thoughts.

I miss the way you smile.

And most of all, I miss your failing attempts of fixing me.

And thank you.

Though I didn’t survive, you helped me to survive so far.

And please, it’s not your fault.

Anyway, I guess this is the time to say goodbye then. I remember you telling me one day,

‘Goodbye is when you’re going away, tonight is just bye, because you are coming back tomorrow’

(Why did you tell me that? You never loved me anyway)

I’m really sorry though, but tonight is goodbye, because I’m not coming back tomorrow.

Goodbye, then.

And I will miss you more.

 Loads of love.

………………………..