Hello,
I tend to go silent quite often. It’s a thing, though it has more to do with my mental health than you.
But I wrote a short horror story, I hope you enjoy.
The phone rings and rings, but I get your voicemail again. You haven’t answered in days, but I keep calling. Trying to get a fresh whisper of your voice even when I keep calling.
I pull the skin around my nails, a nervous habit I have picked up since you passed, and call again. You don’t answer, you never do, and it seems I am going to have to get used to the thought of you gone. It’s unfortunate that today of all days in your funeral. It’s too sunny, if you hadn’t died, I would have dragged you out of your apartment for a picnic.
I would have bought your favorite dessert and taken one look at you and knew you were going to have a really bad day soon. The kind of bad day that ends with hospital visits and body bags.
If I had called earlier, texted you more, visited you with consistency, maybe I would have notice the light doesn’t reach your eyes like it used to.
But I didn’t, and I don’t know if I regret it or not. Sure, I am sad you passed away by your hands alone, but you must feel calmer now. A lot less stress and responsibilities to weigh you down.
They want me to speak at your funeral, my name is on the program and everything. They listed me as your best friend, if only they knew I was much more than that.
I was your everything, or at least I tried to be. I tried to be your worst enemy and greatest fan. Even when the late night calls felt more like a haunting, I still tried my best for you. Despite all the trouble it caused, I bought all your paintings so I could burn them in front of you.
If only they knew how important I was to you, every time you moved away, I would follow with loyalty and those cookies you liked. As I stand and tell them of our friendship, I know they won’t understand, won’t see what you meant to me.
But my speech goes over well, no one speaks or sobs when I am done, just a silence that can only mean grief. I understand grief, even as I heard you crying, begging for the pain to stop, for relief. It’s a natural feeling, something feeling off center, it’s how I feel most days without you.
A numbing sensation as if the light has been sucked out, in those moments, only your presence can make me feel better.
I tried calling at first, but when you didn’t answer, I wanted to help you in anyway I could. After all, what are best friends for, if not helping hold your the knife.
########################################################################
Until next time.
With love,
Jona
Jona Nightingale 