Recent events have brought up old memories. I refuse to listen to it or know anything about it.
It has been exactly one year today. One year since I first – and also the last- heard your voice. One year since you told me you loved me. It’s been one year since you took your own life.
I wonder how you are. I have so many questions. What did death feel like? How did it feel after you pulled the trigger and fell on the ground? I hope you thought about me in the final moments of your life, when you decided you were going to break your promise to me, when I asked you, “Just don’t die, okay?”
The silence that came after was heartbreaking, crippling, and life changing. Your actions have made a statement, and I understood, though only after some time.
I can never look at another man who may remind me of you ever again. Your absence was greatly felt from this side of the country. Though you underestimated yourself, I am sure, a great number of people felt the sorrow and realized the happiness you have brought them when you touched their life.
I have now come to terms and accepted the fact that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it. I never thought this day would come: hearing or seeing your name, of things that remind me of our brief time together, would no longer bring a sharp pain in my heart and tears in my eyes.
I still fantasize at times, that you are not really gone. That you remain in hiding, watching me from some place and are happy that I have finally moved on. I do wish that it were as simple as that. That one day, I will hear your voice again or you’ll come up to me and say, “Hi, it’s me.”