“I’m sorry.” she said holding my head in her hand. I stared at her tossing my head to the side; I’m sorry?
What is she talking about?
I lifted my hands to caress hers. “Sorry? What do you mean babe, you’re starting to scare me.”
I sat her down, her melted chocolate eyes penetrating my soul as her hands rose to my face.
She gave me a sharp slap.
I staggered back holding my cheek, tears welling in my eyes.
¿qué está pasando? What the hell is happening?
“I’m tired of this Willow; I can’t take this sickness!” She got up so we were face to face. “I’m tired of
my family-,” she was cut off by a strangled cough “I’m tired of my church; I’m tired of everyone telling me I’m sick!” She fell to her knees, her eyes staring back up at me “I just want to be cured.” She turned her head to the side. “And I will be; I’m going to a conversion program. I’m going to fix me.”
No, no, no, mentiras she’s kidding. She’s outright fucking with me, and it’s not funny. “Babe, stop-”
“Don’t call me 'babe!'” she yelled, jumping to her feet and backing away. “ I just want to be free! You
can’t get it can you?” Her face changed, “ We can change, come with me Willow.” She smiled, her makeup smeared and eyes glistening, and I cracked.
“Leave, leave, leave!” I picked her from the floor and beckoned her through the door. “I’m not changing,
I can’t change, can’t you get it?”
She staggered in front of me, looking back before dashing through the door. Leaving me, bawling behind her. I could feel it, two halves of my heart inching further and further apart, as the distance between her
and I grew greater. I could feel the tight ropes connecting our hearts, brutally be cut apart by the scissors
I never knew she held.
For the rest of the day, I cried. In the same spot where she left me, or where I left myself
I’m not sure anymore.
The next day arrived, 9:47 AM. My eyes opened to my living room ceiling, the light blaring from
a nearby window shielding most of my view. Everything was a haze for a second, a euphoria to
distract me from the shit that would be the rest of my day, but unfortunately good things never last forever.
I rose from the floor, slowly and groggily. I looked around me, feeling the absence of something.
My furniture was there, my collections, my keys, my girlfr-
The events of yesterday rushed to me like ocean waves crashing against rocks, quick and harsh.
I was tempted to scream, yell, anything at all, but I was quiet, because I was too tired. I wobbled to my feet,
staggering and struggling to get to the bathroom. Once entering, I shakily turned to my side and faced the mirror. I looked sick. My eyes were just as beat red as I thought they were, my hair was a mess, eye bags took up a good fourth of my face, and I was so pale. Rarely have I ever looked so pale, so worn out, so. . . dead. I’ve been
described as bright, eccentric, an angel some would say, but now? Now that my angel’s gone, what am I to become?
These thoughts were what preoccupied me for the next solid six months of my life until I finally decided to get off my ass, and do something about my depression. And I had the perfect idea.
I loved parades, and my favorite one was coming to town that day. I started for the door, already prepared for today. I drove not too far, to the center of Westplain park. As I began my walk, I saw the rainbow, and I saw it everywhere. I saw it in the sky, skin, clothing, flags, and in the air. I felt light, for that meantime, I felt the happiest I had ever been in a very long time. I smiled with strangers, some waved at me, and some greeted me, and soon enough I was doing the same.
Unfortunately, my moment came to a stop. I saw her across from me, in all of that elegance that I pitifully still love. She wasn’t looking in my direction, she was smiling and laughing with the girl besides her. Maybe it was her friend, maybe a sister I never knew off. She held her hand.
Maybe not. I went back home, not a tear cascading down my face, and guess what I did?
I hung myself.
Yes, you’re reading a dead girl’s diary. I’m still hurrying to right this, elated to just make my noose
and end everything. Some of you are probably saying, I should have fought through it, I should have
found someone else, I should have been strong.
I would’ve taken the advice, I would have taken any help.
But you see “would have" is past tense, and unfortunately so am I.