this kid in my class committed suicide. everyone's whispers coming at me - "you should never do that, it's not worth it," "ohmygod." and my thoughts about the matter are the polar opposite of that. this kid must be fucking brave and really incredibly desperate and i know what that feels like and that is fucking unbelievably scary. and i'm wondering if he didn't have anybody to save him, if he didn't have anybody who would hear the cry for help, because i cannot imagine going through with that which i ache for at times - the ending of everything, the wiping of the slate, the clearing of the path, the silencing of screaming and ticking in clocks on mantels and against walls, the silencing of thoughts and people's voices and the party next door, the silencing of the world and all its noise: the cats, the dogs, the insects ticking, the thunderous sounds of matches against matchbooks, flicking of fingers in ashtrays or against countertops, the projectors in the art history building, that roaring tunnel of light and dust - all the noise of the world buried under the snow of your line of vision, the darkness enveloping you like mountains of snow, but warm, snow made of down, snow made of fire, snow of electric blankets and forts on the living room floor, snow of memories, of aching, of changing your mind, snow of your mother, snow of the smell of the ex-girlfriend, snow of your best friend's smile, snow of the first day of class and the last day of everything, snow of your favorite meal, snow of kisses and dandelions, snow of hot chocolate chip cookies, snow of microcosms growing in your head: the bugs of your hands, the atmosphere of your fear and the earth your desire to drown. it's all connected back into your bellybutton - everything is apart of your little world, your reality has not the patience for your body and the realm it exists in, it's too complicated, takes up so much time and exhausts every bit of energy, every step in the real world can diminish your beliefs in everything you are, every touch, every glance, every word exchanged between you and the man on the corner, "no, sorry, i don't have any money." it all chips away at who you are and your patience for the world. so, yeah, i can see getting there, and that's incredible, because as much as everything you do drags you down, it's ten times as hard to look the other way and decide definitively to change your perspective. committing suicide is just as hard as getting better.

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