Dignity

When someone says the word arrogant, I immediately think of you. But then again, everyone is now thinking of you.

I remember the way you held yourself and the slight hubris in your voice as you spoke, and I guess that's why it's a reflex when someone says the word. I realize that I might be wrong, though, and that maybe you weren't as confident as I presumed you to be.

After all, confident people don't usually commit suicide.

I don't know exactly how you did it, but I'm sure it was creative. You always liked to raise your hand in philosophy class and speak your mind, and your points were a little out-of-the-box and interesting. You were bright-eyed and beaming, and I never would have guessed that you'd be someone to drop dead before eighteen.

It's a pity, because someone with your mindset would have brought a new light into the world. 

You told me about how you dreamt about getting into college and working in the Peace Corps, and I thought it commendable. I can't help but wonder why you didn't stay long enough to volunteer your services and help the world become a better place, but I guess I don't really have the right to.

When I'm at your funeral, everyone is solemn, and your parents don't seem like they're going to stop crying. You were, after all, their oldest, and they had such high hopes for you. Hell, you had high hopes for yourself. They didn't want you to be buried six feet under so suddenly and so soon, by your own decision nonetheless, but I guess sometimes it's too late to see the burdens someone's hiding.

It's a shame that I didn't get to know you better. You and I sat next to each other in the one class we had together, and you were nice and we had some animated conversations, but all we had was a classroom friendship. I remember once when someone was bored, comparing people with each other and told us we'd make a cute couple.

Remember how we burst into hysterical laughter because it sounded so ridiculous? They didn’t know us or our hobbies and how we’d match, but appearances are petty, shallow things. 

Besides, it would have never worked. You remind me of summer and daffodils, and though they are nice, I've never liked too much sunlight or the color yellow.

But forgive me for being silly.

My girlfriend is next to me at your ceremony, and she's dressed in black like everyone else is, holding my hand as we listen to the orator's words. Even though this is sad, I can't help but feel happy because we're spending time with each other, and she's so busy with student council that she barely has the liberty to hang out with me. You told me that it sucked that we barely saw each other, and that you knew how I felt.

Your boyfriend from Canada is here too. 

He's blonde and blue eyed, just like you, and his fingers clench onto his black pants as he tries not to cry. You used to talk so lovingly about him, and how hard it was that you guys didn't see each other that much and how he lived so far away. I would think to myself, “I guess I’m actually kind of lucky, because my girlfriend lives right in town.” I didn’t have to deal with distance, unlike you, but now he has to deal with a different kind of distance that is so much more difficult.

You are, after all, out of this world.

My girlfriend didn’t know you all too well either, and I think I knew you better than her. She has always been an emotional girl and I offer her my shoulder to cry on. She wipes her nose on her sleeve as she cries, as after all a funeral is always sad. I recall your dreams, though, and remember your desire to do volunteer work. As much as the death depresses me, I told her about your wishes, and she told me that she wanted to do the same too.

I think she’ll work extra hard in your memory, and it makes me smile.

I’m sorry that I can’t really be sad, but after all, we weren’t all that close. I wish you had gotten help for whatever made you do it, and I wish that you were still here- but you aren’t, and you didn’t, and that can’t be changed.

What was the statistic for the amount of suicides per minute? One or two people, I think?

Well, you were one of them. 

There are also new births to make up for the people who die, too. I guess that’s how my mind works. Don’t get me wrong, I really am sad, but my parents always say that I’m way too optimistic for my own good. Some things end, but a new thing begins in place of them.

I think your parents should cry for a while, and that everyone should keep your name in their hearts, though. We all will remember, or at least I hope, but we will also have to move on from you, the girl who was in my philosophy class with blonde hair and blue eyes and had big dreams but never fulfilled them.

Even though funerals are sad, I never was able to focus on them. My girlfriend is next to me and paying attention like the sharp person she is, but your boyfriend has his head in the clouds to try to deal with your death and I am tapping my fingers on my knee. I distract myself too, as I do miss you, after all. I may be optimistic, but it’s still heartbreaking to know that the desk next to me will be empty when I go to school the next day.

I think my head is in the clouds too. I might have selective hearing, because all I can hear is the mention of your name and the words, “she died quarter past five on a Sunday afternoon.” 

....You put a new definition next to rest, too.

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"life is a passion that you shouldn't take for granted."

my first thing on this site ♥♥♥ there was this short story i read a little while back, and suddenly i got pressed to write this. kind of tried out something new but whatever.