3/7/2016

A story about a boy and a girl that has some truth to it. However, I wish to never leave someone the burden of finding this story to be true.

                   Dear reader,

This is the story of her. She was a beautiful girl. She had just turned 20, being only 5'4 and weighing about 118. I know this because she told me. I met her during the summer of 2015 when I got a job at a fast food restaurant near my cousin's house. My cousin being the one who got me the job. I took the job and it was time to move forward.

I met many great people there. Including her. I will save the entire recollections of the awkward introductions and all that jazz. Let's just move on with more important memories.

I started talking to her more and more as weeks passed. The more I learned about her the more I realized that she was an amazing person. She had unrealistic expectations of the world and of love, but her fantasies gave her hope and kept her going through a lot of her life. She had dreams about marrying a strong willed man that would sit with her all night. A man that would take care of her and be there for the hardest and most trying times in her life. But most of all, she wanted an honest man. She had been lied to her whole life. It was the thing she most needed.            

Months went by and I fell in love. I loved her with all my heart. Yet, I knew that nothing like that would arise from this relationship. I gave up instantly. Many more than a few told me to give it a shot as she might actually like me. This was due to the way she acted around me. The hugs, the calls, the sleepless nights. Nonetheless, my crippling depression brought on a massive wave of self doubt, as well as a fear of being hurt. I gave up instantly. For my sanity however, I chose to tell her just so I could get a weight off of my chest. I did. She said nothing.

After a few days we talked about it. We were closer than ever. Only, we were just friends.
I would like to say that this is the end of the story and that we stayed like this for a long time. But regardless of what could've happened, I will tell the truth of this all.

On the day of March, 7, she called me on the phone. We talked for hours on end, just opening our minds and letting ourselves read one another for who we really were. Then the call ended. About 2 hours later, she called me again.

Me: "Hey bud."
Her: "Hey! I just wanted to ask you, would it be ok for me to come over?"
Me: "Of course! That would be awesome! When though? Right now?"
Her: "Yeah! Is that ok?"
Me: "Yeah of course!"
Her: "Text me your address cause I forgot how to get their *Brenda laughs*"
Me: "Ok I'll text it to you!"

I texted her my address. A few minutes later she arrived at my driveway. I stepped outside.

Once again, we talked. About life currently, about what we wanted from life, about what we were fighting for. All of this. She wore a pink shirt and black shorts that day. She was on her way to a park to jog.

She pokes me on the side of my ribs. "Come on! Let's run!"
"What? But where?" I asked her.
"Anywhere. I just want to run and forget."

We ran. We left her truck and we ran. We ran in the drizzle of a cold seemingly never ending winter. She ran and I ran with her. She was beautiful. Her black hair flailed in the wind while the water drizzled on her soft skin. Droplets covered my glasses as I ran behind her to keep up. We stopped.

We walked back to her truck. We talked some more. We lived some more.

After a few more minutes of talking, she had to get going. She gave me a big hug. I felt like all of my problems were gone. I loved it.

She got in her truck and left. That was the last I ever saw of her.

I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing. It was an unknown number.

Her car flipped over. She was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late.
I sit here, writing this suicide note, this story, whatever this may be. I feel. Guilt, regret, sadness, emptiness. I find joy in nothing. I am no longer alive inside.



NOTE:
Sadly most of this story is true. Luckily and thankfully, thanking whoever or whatever allowed it, I can say that the only fictional part of this story is the death of her. She is alive and well. I write this while I wait for her call back. I see her on Sunday.

Author's Note

I know I'm not a great writer by any means. But again, all tips are appreciated. Thank you.