Suicide Notes

As I read this,
your last letter to the world,
I can't help but wonder about these notes.
No matter what you explain,
no matter how intricate your wording is,
The words just rush past like water through lace.
I sit and wonder,
not why,
but why I didn't know.
Why they didn't tell me.
Biting my lip,
I stare at this note,
this last testament to your suffering,
trying to switch the letters around,
trying to make sense of it all,
putting it together like a child's jigsaw puzzle.
Now it is illegible,
for tears have blotted out these statements you made to me.
Now,
all is gone,
all but the spaces in between.
I am left staring at these in stead of the words,
thinking maybe I should have read in between those lines
that you told me.
FInally,
frustrated with the work I have done to make sense of it,
but to no avail,
I crumple it up.
I throw it to the ground.
It is useless to me now.
Why you did this is an unsolved mystery,
one whose ending I already know.
But this ending is elusive,
slipping between the cracks of my memory.
I reach and grab at the meaning,
but it elludes me once again.
I concede to the confusion,
although your words will be forever burned into my brain,
a brand,
my reminder of you to carry,
tucked safely in a shirt pocket.