#maneypoo

"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.

An eternal life — what would it be like? I've been curious about it for as long as I can remember, if life were everlasting, then, perhaps there'd be no such thing as grief, mourning, sadness or pain?

But even if those things would not exist in a "relative" sense, would one who has achieved a neverending life span ever be happy? Would they have the ability to overlook everything that's happening around them, the ability to overlook someone's death, someone's pain, or birth?

I thought I'd never find the answer to such questions, but after meeting you, I think I can more or less guess the answers to all of those questions. You always look sad whenever we talk about your life while stargazing, as if you'd give up your everything just to live a normal life, a life lived as a human, a mortal. But it still left one thing unanswered — why? If it meant being able to gaze up at the stars for an eternity, who wouldn't want to live? I seem to never be able to understand your sadness, yet still, I can't help the sting I feel in my chest whenever I see you sad, for you're a friend I hold dear, the only family I have left.

You're a silly person, I'd usually think. You let everything affect you so easily. One moment you're sad, the other you're happy, even the little things seem to affect you so much! Sometimes, I wonder what you'll do when I'm gone? Will you be sad? Will you talk to someone else about me just as you talk to me whenever you miss your family? I can't help that I'm a mortal, but if it was possible, I'd give up my mortality to accompany you for a lifetime, so that you don't have to bear the weight of it all by yourself.

I don't even remember when we met anymore, it's been ages, yet you never seem to grow old, while I've gotten older now, almost enough to worry that one day I'll look older than even you. I bet you'd make fun of me when I do. I wouldn't mind that, I think.

I remember when we tried to get into astronomy, to become astronauts, that was my dream since forever, afterall, but after failing, I don't know what came over me, I just fell into a depressive hole, unable to even notice that it was affecting you too. I couldn't help but feel selfish for not being able to make you feel happy the way you make me do. I wish, I really wish, that I could've done it all differently, maybe then, I wouldn't have given up the life that you held so dearly. Had I known the look you'd have on your face when I took my life, I wouldn't have done it. I really wouldn't have. But alas, I can't do anything about it now, can I? There's no point in mourning or lamenting about it anymore, even so, why do you continue doing it? Why do you feel sad that I died? I wish I could comfort you, but I can't, and it frustrates me to no end. If I could, I really would go back and slap some sense into my old self. I'd tell them that it's not worth it, that they can get through it, live through it. I wish I told you about it. I thought you would've blamed yourself, but are you not doing the same even now? I wish, I really really wish, to remain by your side, to tell you that you don't have to blame yourself or deal with all of it alone, but what can be done now?

Through it all — your scream brought me back, to the reality that can't be avoided, to your arms that held my body growing ever cold, and your tears. And all I could do, was utter out a pathetic apology.