When you sit there, the rope in one hand. Or maybe it's some pills. Or maybe it's just a knife. Or maybe it's just you, willing yourself to go. To leave this place of pain and sorrow and tears. The place where you had your first days of your life. Where you were when he broke up with you. Where you were when you heard he went to jail for possession. Where you were when he died. You sit there with your choice of escape, waiting for the right moment. But before you do, remember this. They will miss you.
Your mom will be devastated. Her little angel made her way to heaven the hard way. She will sit with a picture of you, her sobs shaking her whole body. Your dad is right there next to her, rubbing her back, wondering if there was something he could have done to stop you. His little baby is gone.
Your 4 year old brother won't understand at first, but when he figures it out, he'll sit in his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what you looked like. The way you sounded, they way you laughed. The way you would give him a hug after he came home from preschool every day, no matter what. He would grow up without you, his memory of you fading by the second.
Your best friend at school, she sits there with the letter you wrote, not reading it, just staring in silence. She has become distant, and is heading down the same path you did. She sits there now, the rope or the pills or the knife, staring at your letter. She does it, and the cycle starts again.
So the next time you think about leaving, remember this. They Will Miss You.