Letter to a Dead Girl
It doesn’t seem like a real thing, does it? That a person’s life could be snuffed out that fast? Was it really worth it? Did they really need to talk to you that bad? Isn’t it ironic that they’ll never talk to you again? I’m not completely sure what was going through your head. I’m not sure I’d like to know. Were the lights of the red light you ran blinding? Were they the last thing you saw? Imagine leaving this world in a cloud of red. I wonder what that felt like. I wonder if you know, where ever you are now, that the people in the other car didn’t make it either. I wonder if dead people can feel regret. I wonder if dead people can feel anything. The problem with being alive is that you feel everything. I saw your mom at the funeral. I’ve never seen such pure agony on a person’s face before. I’m sure it was on my face as well. Someone told me she still washes you sheets every Sunday. As if you’d need them. As if you’d come back. You’re gone now, just because you thought it couldn’t wait. That phone call seemed important. You couldn’t wait, but now everyone else is going to spend their whole lives waiting. Waiting for you to walk into a room, light it up again with your smile. Waiting for all the lost people to come home. Before the crash, everything seemed to happen so fast. Life went by so quickly and the future seemed so close. Time crashed to a halt that night too. Everything just…stopped. It’s been 6 months and I’m still waiting. Waiting for the pain to go away, waiting to feel alive again. I’m going to spend the rest of my life waiting for this to just have been nightmare. I wish you would have waited instead.