Do not be upset that I am gone, for there is no reason for you to be sad. You do not know me. You know almost nothing about me. Not my name, not my age, not my race, not even what gender or sex I am. Do not feel bad about me. Feel bad for the ones you know or love.
I was there. When the leaves grew back, yellowish green, as they all circled my lowering casket. I saw the tears. And I saw the pain. Did I get my answers? No. I didn't ever run across the person I was looking for. My question will be left unanswered forever. And my sadness will always remain. You may have heard that when you die, there is no more. No more sadness, no more anger, no more existing. But that is not true. The sadness remains. And now so does anger. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, demanding to be felt, demanding for attention. But I ignore it as I watch the remaining people standing around my now buried casket; standing around my grave. They apologized, speaking between sobs. They apologized for not being there. They apologized for not seeing it sooner. I try to reach out to them, but I only hit glass. They leave. It's only then that the homeless man retreats from his spot from afar. He stands a few feet away from where my body lay buried. His face is masked, showing no hint of emotion. He kneels, placing something on the fresh patch of dirt. I wait till he leaves before I let my curiosity get the best of me. And if I could cry, I would. If I could scream, or shout, or say anything at all, I would. But I can't. Because I am dead.
On that grave lay the fifty dollar bill I had given him that night. He's kept it, no matter how hungry he had gotten, or how cold, he kept it. For weeks and weeks he kept it, just to pay his respects. Who would want to spend a dead mans money, anyways? Do not do it, stranger. If you are thinking about ending it all, do not do it. All you will do is cause yourself more sadness, along with the people around you. Please, stranger. It isn't what you think it is.