A Letter to You.

There’s a comfort in the cold that I have grown to enjoy. At first it was scary, that bitter darkness of death. But I’ve grown accustomed to its harsh embrace.

I thought I might go mad, seeing the same thing every day for the rest of my life, but I soon realized that it all changes so quickly. The trees, the faces, the smells are all different. It’s never quiet on this train.  

My room is always empty though. No one wants to stay in a room that someone died in. But then again, people often come to gawk at the rope hanging from the ceiling. The same rope that stopped my breathing so long ago. I like to watch people’s reactions to this room. Some scream, others cry. I’ve even had a couple sneak in after dark and have sex in this room.

I wander the train, content to just watch others live with a happiness I never reached. I watch love blossom and sometimes, fall to pieces.

I’ve seen people sit in inescapable sadness, ached to reach out and help. I wanted to let them know they weren’t alone. I wanted to be their friends, to lead them from that darkness like I wish someone would have don’t for me.

I’ve seen happiness, and fear. I’ve seen people at their worst. I’ve seen so much but no has ever seen me.

Until you.

You walked into my room, where I sat on the bed, watching the scenery whip past. You looked at me and spoke. You said hello.

It has been to long since I’ve had a conversation with someone other than myself. You told me of yourself. The hurt, the joy. Your life was good.

So why did you leave? I had asked. That made you smile. It was a sad smile.

You felt alone, you felt like everything was too much. You told me about your mother’s death and your brother’s bitterness. You felt like a burden.

I wish I was there to tell you that you weren’t. Because I have seen it all, I’ve seen people cry, smile, and argue. I’ve seen it all go down just for them to pick up the pieces again. For them to lift their chin and keep going.

I wish I was there to tell you not to join me here. But I wasn’t. Now we stand in your room, looked down at the bloodstained sheets as your brother sobs on the phone. We watch them carry you away, to be stored away like I was until they find somewhere to leave you.

I must admit I like having someone to talk to, I only wish it were under other circumstances. I have grown accustomed to the bitter cold embrace of death, but I wonder, will you?


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