Suicide. The words fall down from my tongue,to my lips, and slither down into the coldness of the floor. Suicide, where so many compare it to saying goodbye, the last straw, the lost sign of struggle, I compare it to long, honey-blond curls. To the sweet smell of fruits and mint. To the ever-so-permanent color of fuchsia. Suicide. Those clear blue eyes always looked up at me with such sorrow. Glowing tears hiding behind them. A thousand words that had been silent finally played their song. Finally broke their quiet. Suicide, the sound of the word reminds me of bell-like laugh. Of clear, porcelain skin. Of her love for cookies. How I got my nickname. As I say the word, I feel her arms wrap around me. A bear hug. A thank you hug. Could it have been a goodbye? How long have those sapphires of eyes known that they would no longer shine? How long did that sweet, sweet fragrance of fruits and mint know that it would no longer linger in this world? How could I not see how deep in her own pain she was? She was my panda bear. I was her cookie. I let her down. I let her go. Suicide, to so many a mistake, to me a thief. The one who took my friend. My panda. My Amanda.