Beautifully Broken

In sixty-five days, two hours and fourteen minutes, I will leave this world. It's not because I'm miserable, or because I hate myself or even because I'm being bullied. It's because I don't belong here. This world isn't my place. I'm a jigsaw piece that won't fit, a block that won't cement; a poster that won't stick.

I won't leave you with nothing. On the 22nd of August you will find a key and a note sitting on the top of my desk, next to my purple diary and on top of my photos. The key will lead you to my locker where you will find a letter addressed to each and every person I know. Don't expect them to be kind and forgiving, because on this day, I'll have no fear. I won't be guarded by social morals and by my own kindness, because I'll be gone. You will hear exactly what I think; exactly my thoughts of you the minute the breath left my body.

In one-hundred and twenty-nine days, I'll be forgotten. My memory will be gone along with my soul, and the name Alexa Turnam won't mean a thing.

Don't try to save me.