ASKING FOR A FRIEND--Leezeth

 It’s hard living when you killed yourself. Each day I stare at the crumpled papers pinned up above the T.V. The T.V. of which you’d watch me play video games. You would always rest your cute brunette head on my chest, grasping your phone, probably on social media. I'd tell you social media is pointless. You’d smile and I’d look at you and grin but only short enough so I wouldn’t be distracted from my Xbox. I wished I looked at you longer. You had a smile that was so genuine and sincere, you seemed to love sharing it with the world. I’d watch you jump into your group of acquaintances with that smile. I knew it’d make them happy, or at the least, it made me happy. You expressed this infinite brightness that made you glow, attracting so many people. You always knew so many, it never failed to amaze me. I'd walk you home and you'd always be greeting someone new, someone I’ve never seen before. But that would be no surprise since I was rather quiet and reserved, and a little more so before I met your radiance. You told me you loved my silence because whenever I did talk it was always so intellectual, mind consuming, and significant. Nevertheless you shared pieces of you which was usually kept to yourself. It was darker yet truthful and inspiring. You spoke of society and its ignorance, and how upsetting it is that serious topics like depression and suicide are just memes and jokes on twitter nowadays. One day, you talked about a person you knew who contemplated depression and death but was so unsure of himself because it was the “norm”. You said that your friend didn't want to see a doctor because “every teenager has suicidal thoughts,” and that it was “normal to want to kill yourself.” You told me that he didn't want to seek help because he didn't think he needed it. I looked at you. You were balancing on the sidewalk, smiling at the ground. I asked, “Are you concerned for him?” You stopped, looked up at me with a one-sided smile and said “He already killed himself.” I apologized and you said it was okay because it wasn't my fault or yours or his, it was society's. You said that maybe if we didn't make jokes about being depressed or jokes about killing ourselves so nonchalantly things would be different. Maybe if people understood that clinical depression does exist and not in people who stress over a night of homework. I agreed that wanting to kill yourself should never be a trend. It was always difficult for me to tell whether someone was serious about wanting to die or if they were just upset. Maybe they were serious; I couldn't understand or relate to it. You mentioned something about how I appreciated life and what it gave me, which was you so of course I did. I stared at you, you smiled, I smiled back and you said you loved me so we don't need to worry about a thing. Your silver smile twitched. Now, I stare at the ground, with flowers in one hand, the notebook pages in the other. I sit on the grass, the engraved stone taunting me. I look down at the pages and read them. Your beautiful handwriting is scratched against the pages and I hear your voice in the words. The words keep apologizing and I know your voice is shaking. I knew things happened before I met you but you said that you were okay and very happy now. I should’ve saw through it all. Tears were streaming down my face as I glance over the last line: “I was the friend, I'm sorry.”