My Letter to Your Suicide

**No, it's not a poem, it's really a letter that I wrote about a year ago to my boyfriend who committed suicide.

Dear John Mark:

I never believed in love at first sight until I saw you. It's like you put me under your spell and you didn't let me go. I loved everything you ever did or said. I loved how you could make me laugh just by looking at me and by trading unbelievable stories for a dollar or two from your friends. You had an air about you and it drew attention and new friends. That was something you were always good at - making new friends. It was amazing and it fascinated me how easy it was for you to talk to strangers. They were drawn, like me, to your shocking blonde hair and your big green eyes and that sweet sleepy smile, that I thought was just for me, your girl. Heh, I remember one time, I was watching you sleep, watching your facial expressions, sleeping in perfection. I remember thinking, "Gosh, you know what? I really love him." It just hit like that - BAM! I was so excited because I felt this way and I just wanted to wake you up and talk to you about everything and anything. You looked so peaceful, I couldn't do it. It was as if, by waking you, I would've ruined the magic of that feeling. I loved the way you could always surprise me, too. I mean, I watched you like a hawk and I'd still find Jolly Ranchers in my back pockets. I have about a hundred in a shoebox. I saved every one. You had a smell about you, too. Strawberry Jolly Ranchers, smoke, and aftershave; it was a strange mix that I'd grown to love. It was a part of you and I needed it. You know, you never called me by my real name, either. And when you did say it, you only whispered it. You said it was too precious to say out loud. It was a secret for some strange reason only you knew. I didn't care, though. You were a good kisser, too. Not that I'd had much to compare you to. I just knew. I'd always try not to think of all the practice you'd had. Then, at the end, every harsh word or line and even all of your 'I'm sorrys', I held them close to my heart. They'd been said millions of times to millions of girls under their windows, on back streets and in backseats, and in dark rooms at parties, with the doors locked tight. I knew I deserved better than what you could ever give me, but I didn't want it or even take it when it was offered to me. I wanted you, because I loved you. I knew that I deserved 'I love yous' and flowers. I knew I deserved to grow and change, to become all of the girls I could ever be over the course of my life, each one much better than the last. I knew that. Then, when you died, I was heart-broken. I felt like I couldn't go or do. I talked to Jack about it. He said, "Man, that is too difficult. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I lost my girlfriend. I don't think I could live without her." And I threw my head back and laughed bitterly and said, "Yeah. You think that, at first." The truth is, you don't. Not really. You never forget that feeling, that rush, you get when you're with that one special person. Just the sight of you gave me the sense of looking down and finding myself in midair, dangling above the world. Like it wasn't real, just make-believe. And I guess, in the end, it was.

Love,
Tate