#manepoo

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry —" were the only words I could choke out while ending my life. I wish I could've looked at things differently back then. If I did, then maybe you wouldn't have been so hurt because of me. I know I'll never be able to feel your pain, but that doesn't mean that mine is insignificant as well, right? I know it's my fault for not reaching out, but can I really blame myself? Looking back, I can only view myself as a helpless kid barely holding on. All that pressure, stress, disappointment, fear — everything. All of it. It was tearing me apart from the inside. The only thing that kept me going was you and the nights we spent stargazing. But at some point, without me realising, even that stopped being a reason for me to stay. It didn't mean that I disliked spending time with you, no, never. It's just...I don't know. I couldn't find it in me to keep going.

Ah, I know, I know it was my fault. I, too, spent so long blaming myself for everything. Knowing how it feels, how can I even bring myself to blame you fully? I know how much it hurts, I wish I could comfort you, tell you it's not your fault, that it's going to be okay, that I'll still be watching over you. How I wish. But we both know it can't be done anymore.

If only you could still see me, hear me, I'd tell you everything that I've been holding back. I'd tell you about how I ended up spiralling about everything every time, how I'd cry over questions I couldn't solve, how it felt when I got yelled at by teachers and parents, and so much more. If I'd told you back then, would things have turned out differently for us? If only you'd seen the look on your face whenever the topic of death came up, maybe you'd understand why I was so reluctant to tell you that I wanted to die. Afterall, you cherished the life around you too much to understand the importance of death.

Whenever I looked up at the sky — I couldn't help but feel a sting in my heart. I couldn't help but think: "If I can't even do simple things, how will I reach the sky?" I knew that the "what if's" I had did nothing but make me feel worse, but I couldn't stop them. It was as if my mind had a mind of its own that I couldn't control. I wanted to live so desperately yet at the same time I didn't. Every time I went home, my parents would look at me with hopeful, expecting eyes — eyes of expectations that I could never fulfill, full of hope that I was so afraid to shatter.

I know I'm not as perfect as others say I was, atleast from their point of view. Everyone has their own flaws, don't they? You were probably the only person who'd value and accept those, so would you hear my flaws one last time? And all the troubles that kept me up at night, even when I was by your side? All the regrets that I'd had till my last day under the night sky?

I knew chasing after only one thing would get me nowhere, yet I did — I did because it was the one thing that kept me going on days when you weren't there. The stars. Whenever I was upset, I used to look up at them and think, "They shine so bright every time, even after rainy, cloudy days, I wonder if I can be like that one day?"

I was a lonely kid. I had trouble making friends at school, yet I still tried my best to help. Even if it didn't matter to them, it did to me. It mattered because I made an effort to communicate. Would you agree with my view if you ever heard of it? I hoped you would.

I always regretted not speaking up when it mattered most. I still do even now. But alas, there's nothing that can be done now, is there? Yet, if in another life, if in another timeline — one where I told you, one where you asked me to stay, I would. For you, I would remain, Odeta.