You called me yesterday. You seemed so happy, talking about all the things we had ever done together. You talked about the movies, we'd seen, the ones you wanted to see. We argued about silly things, like who was the best character in LOTR. You asked me about what I was going to do this summer. I told you I hoped to spend it with you and at camp. You sounded sad for a minute, but you went back to normal. I didn't think it was serious, so I let it go. But it bothered me. So later in the nigt I called you. It wasn't late, so I knew you would answer.You always did. But this time you didn't.
I panicked. I called you again. And again and again. Eventualy, I got so scared, I drove over to your house. I knocked, but you didn't answer, so I tried the door. It was open. You never left it open! I ran inside, up to your bedroom. No one was there. I searched the entire house, screaming your name. I called all your friends, but no one knew where you were. I was going out of my mind with worry. I ran threw your house one more time. I stopped at the basement door. No one ever went down there, because it was cold and wet and moldy. I opened the dorr and flicked on te lights. I heard a small cry. I ran down the stairs.
You were sitting in a corner, crying, with a bottle of pills in your hand. I let out a scream. No. Nononononono, this could not be happening. I grabbed your hand, but your pulse was faint. You were dying. I called for an ambulance, but I knew it was too late. I sat with you and cried. Why did you do it? I loved you! I could have helped you! But you never came to me, and now I'm here with you. And you're dead. I'm watching you, but you don't move. I'm sorry, my love. I'm sorry.