Gravity.

After that night, gravity is all I can think about. How dare you leave me but how dare I not notice the way your feet barely left the ground when you walked and how you could hardly lift your head. Were you ashamed of yourself? You shouldn't be. I hope you aren't, where ever you are, I hope you are finally happy. I heard that the last thing you said to someone was 'You'd think I'd be happy.' It's sad when you really think about it. But I'm trying to do that less, thinking; it's proven to be dangerous. If only gravity could have brought you down. If only it worked. We could tell that you were crying when you wrote the note. You usually had perfect penmanship, but that night you were shaking when you wrote it. Were you afraid of what you were about to do, or were you more afraid for the person who was going to find you? Your neighbors say they could hear your mother scream from 10 houses down. She still isn't over it, no one is. That very day she had all the ceiling fans removed. Damn gravity. It could have saved you, I COULD HAVE SAVED YOU. But it's too late. I'm sorry. They showed me the note, you wrote, "If only my heart was heavy enough to pull me down." I read it and reread it so many times, I have it memorized. It's all I can think about, that and gravity.