February 27, 2011
As I looked at the picture in the paper, I realized I knew that boy. The eyes were no longer the same; they held more sorrow now instead of happiness. But, somehow amid the sadness covering his face, I remembered the guy I used to know. He was the one who picked me up at the soccer game, the one who laughed so hard, and the guy who dreamed of going into the marines. I only saw you a couple times, but your face became implanted in my mind. You were nice to me, something that’s not common among older guys. I was a young girl, naïve about so many things and you were like an oak tree, sheltering me from a storm. I feel this overwhelming sadness now, that no one could stop you from pulling that trigger. It was an accident, but so many are now left crying themselves to sleep. I pray for you, I pray for you every day. I moved my hand to send you a message today, but then saw all the other messages you had already received. I doubt mine would even be noticed, just a young girl’s desperate cry for you. You probably don’t even remember me, but I will always remember you. Not as the man who killed his best friend, but as the boy who saw me when others didn’t. The guy who wanted to make me smile when I stood off by myself. I wish I could turn back the clock, keep your hand off that trigger. It’s too late now, and I’m so sorry. I wish I could have stopped you.

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