‹ Prequel: 101 Reasons
Fourteen Sundays
Twelfth Sunday
You could be happy and I won't know
But you weren't happy the day I watched you go
-You Could be Happy, Snow Patrol
James
It was only a dream. I told myself over and over again. It was only a dream. I repeated it and at one point there it seems like I believed in it. But her distant voice asking why I didn’t save her rang constant in my mind that all I ever did was cup my hands in my ears and drowned myself in tears.
I hurried back to the page where I left, hoping that her next letter would be something that can soothe me. hoping that what she wrote next would be something like saying thank you. I leafed through the pages roughly the pages almost tearing out of the journal.
Twelfth Sunday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James,
It hurts. Every part of me hurts. It hurts when I move. It hurts when I eat. It hurts when I sleep. It even hurts when I breathe. What do I do?
It hurts so much.
Why does it hurt like this?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her handwriting was so sloppy I didn’t even recognize it as her own. Her Ts are not crossed well, her Is not dotted. Every parts of this letter seem wrong. It is too sloppy. Too sloppy that I can almost imagine her writing it. Writing so hard so she can write me a letter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They didn’t tell me it’s going to feel like this.
James. Where are you? Mom said you left the house early in the morning because you can’t take it anymore. I hope you come back soon.
It hurts so much.
I want to die.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And then every moment I had with her just played nonstop in my mind. How she tiptoed in my room and set the alarm clock disabling the snooze button and then positions it near my ear. How she instantly pop into my room whenever I do my rock star moves. How she steal my cereal. How we both wait for the bus talking about anything and laughing about almost everything.
Everything that happened was once clear in my head. And thinking that none of it will ever happen again make it seem like all are just a dream. That Ann isn’t real. That I had just woken up into some vague dream and I will never see her again.
I can hear her voice whispering in my ear asking why no one told her how much of it hurts. I can hear her voice asking me nonstop as if I was the one who betrayed her.
I wasn’t there when she’s hurting the most. I was out. Alone. Complaining because all that’s happening is too much for me to handle. I never even thought about Ann. I didn’t even thought that what’s happening to her is much worst. I’ve been selfish.
I wasn’t there when she needed me most.
I called out for her name but she wouldn’t answer. It was nearing sunrise yet all I ever did was cry. I was so close to accepting. So close that I almost fooled myself. How can I forget someone whose voice is already recorded in my head, whose face is already printed at the back of my eyes, whose heart is already a part of mine? How can someone accept the fact that the most important person in their lives died without having enough chances of living?
How can life be so unfair?
I searched for the knife that she keeps in her drawer for safety purposes and breathed a sigh of relief that it was still there. Wait for me Ann, I’ll come for you.
I traced the knife down to my veins, expertly, like dissecting my own arm. I didn’t feel any pain. Drats. It would’ve been better if I die with the same pain that she suffered.
I reached for the bottle of Tylenol lying untouched in Ann’s dresser. I took the whole bottle. And slowly I felt the whole world collapsing on me.
So this is how it feels like….
Dying.
But you weren't happy the day I watched you go
-You Could be Happy, Snow Patrol
James
It was only a dream. I told myself over and over again. It was only a dream. I repeated it and at one point there it seems like I believed in it. But her distant voice asking why I didn’t save her rang constant in my mind that all I ever did was cup my hands in my ears and drowned myself in tears.
I hurried back to the page where I left, hoping that her next letter would be something that can soothe me. hoping that what she wrote next would be something like saying thank you. I leafed through the pages roughly the pages almost tearing out of the journal.
Twelfth Sunday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James,
It hurts. Every part of me hurts. It hurts when I move. It hurts when I eat. It hurts when I sleep. It even hurts when I breathe. What do I do?
It hurts so much.
Why does it hurt like this?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her handwriting was so sloppy I didn’t even recognize it as her own. Her Ts are not crossed well, her Is not dotted. Every parts of this letter seem wrong. It is too sloppy. Too sloppy that I can almost imagine her writing it. Writing so hard so she can write me a letter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They didn’t tell me it’s going to feel like this.
James. Where are you? Mom said you left the house early in the morning because you can’t take it anymore. I hope you come back soon.
It hurts so much.
I want to die.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And then every moment I had with her just played nonstop in my mind. How she tiptoed in my room and set the alarm clock disabling the snooze button and then positions it near my ear. How she instantly pop into my room whenever I do my rock star moves. How she steal my cereal. How we both wait for the bus talking about anything and laughing about almost everything.
Everything that happened was once clear in my head. And thinking that none of it will ever happen again make it seem like all are just a dream. That Ann isn’t real. That I had just woken up into some vague dream and I will never see her again.
I can hear her voice whispering in my ear asking why no one told her how much of it hurts. I can hear her voice asking me nonstop as if I was the one who betrayed her.
I wasn’t there when she’s hurting the most. I was out. Alone. Complaining because all that’s happening is too much for me to handle. I never even thought about Ann. I didn’t even thought that what’s happening to her is much worst. I’ve been selfish.
I wasn’t there when she needed me most.
I called out for her name but she wouldn’t answer. It was nearing sunrise yet all I ever did was cry. I was so close to accepting. So close that I almost fooled myself. How can I forget someone whose voice is already recorded in my head, whose face is already printed at the back of my eyes, whose heart is already a part of mine? How can someone accept the fact that the most important person in their lives died without having enough chances of living?
How can life be so unfair?
I searched for the knife that she keeps in her drawer for safety purposes and breathed a sigh of relief that it was still there. Wait for me Ann, I’ll come for you.
I traced the knife down to my veins, expertly, like dissecting my own arm. I didn’t feel any pain. Drats. It would’ve been better if I die with the same pain that she suffered.
I reached for the bottle of Tylenol lying untouched in Ann’s dresser. I took the whole bottle. And slowly I felt the whole world collapsing on me.
So this is how it feels like….
Dying.