Suicide Note
Rincón creativo | Short Stories
Suicide Note
Damien Knight
Wednesday 2 AM, and I am awake, waiting for time to mend this part of me which keeps broken since you left me. I have washed the dishes on the sink; I ' ve thrown the litter away. My home is clean, but my soul is not.
Police came today, and all the memories also came back with them, the day when I lost you, when I lost the bright of your eyes, the kindness of your smile, the freedom of your spirit...
All your clothes are still hanged in the wardrobe; your toothbrush is in the bathroom, waiting for you; your perfume reminds in the air. It ' s like you have never gone, but you did, and it hurts. My pillow still remember your golden hair; your sweet smell has mixed with my tears, making something unique, like that that you and me used to have, but it is over now, and it hurts. My body still remembers the warmth that you used to give me. Your big arms were my shelter; your chest, my nest. Now, I ' m homeless.
I ' ve said aloud so many times that it was not my fault; I ' ve even screamed it in the night, but I can ' t convince myself of it. It was my fault, and there is nothing that I can do to change it. I couldn ' t call up the heaven; I couldn ' t crawl down through hell; I couldn ' t bring you back; you are death, and I was guilty. I know that, and it hurts.
Everybody says that I ' m not the same boy that you left behind; that I have to move on, being stronger and trying to be happy, but I can ' t. I ' m not strong enough to overcome. I have nothing and I need you. Now, I only have the cold and painful kiss of the razor on my wrists and the death singing a lullaby on my ear, the last one that I ' ll hear.