soon.

xcvii.

̶ ̶ xcvii. DEATH.

an old friend of mine who sits in the corner of my bedroom and tells me stories of others he had to shake hands with that day. 
how he had to watch them cry
and grieve
and reach for the unknown as their body struggled to stay alive.
how he had to sigh,
tap his fingers delicately,
and wait until this someone was ready to switch from reality into a world no one knows of.

he tells me some nights that he is proud of me.
that even though he watched me struggle up what seemed to be a never ending hill of depression and demons and the idea that living wasn't real,
life had no meaning,
he knew i would conquer through it with a sword labeled hope and that i could look back down that towering hill that i was now on top of and no longer be afraid of heights.
he tells me it would've been hard not to cry the moment i decided to off myself, to say farewell to a life unfulfilled.
sometimes he gets angry,
yelling that there are kids with cancer that only live for six years that he has to carry home into the stars,
yet here i was,
healthy and standing tall,
wanting to give up when all i had to do was stop thinking so badly of myself.
that's when my voice grows louder, screaming that if it was that easy, we would never even be friends. that i would just be another name he crossed from his list, another stranger he waited patiently for.

the nights that he doesn't know when to stay below the line are nights that depression comes crawling back up my spine. it is no longer a matter of when or how i want to die, it's more of a why i even began to think this way in the first place. 
why i allowed myself to swallow this idea whole,
that i was worthless and unloving in a world i have not yet touched.

he sits behind me when i write.
he never comments, just says quiet as i cry or smile or click select all and delete every word i had just jumbled together in hopes others would understand the place i currently came from. he composes every thing i write into songs that i had never heard one sing so passionately before. i sometimes catch him singing them when he leaves, on his way to pick up yet another patient as he likes to call them.

before he vanished from my side, he asked me if he scared me. the day before i attempted to kill myself, i smirked and replied,
"i wish".

it was the moment that everything around me was enveloped in slow motion and i couldn't count to ten and my brain was bellowing for me to hold on to something, to stay alive, and another part of me was whispering angelically that this what i've wanted for years so just let go. it was in that exact moment that i screamed and cried for death to leave me alone. to not touch, i did not want to go home, i wanted to spring up from the hospital bed and give my distressed mother a hug.

i was petrified
and so was he.

one last breath, everything faded to black.
i saw him, standing from afar,
and he nodded.
he rose his hand,
waved slightly,
and whispered,
"until we meet again".

that was the last i ever saw of him.

[ there are days where i miss him,
his company,

mornings where i wish to visit him.

but in the darkest of nights,
i can hear his singing from afar.

which is enough for me,
until we meet again. ]