What am I supposed to do when the best part of me
Was always you?
What am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up
That you're okay?
I'm falling to pieces.
I'm falling to pieces.
This was all my fault. Words can't even describe how badly I messed things up. I'm so, so sorry. If you're reading this, Antonio...it means that I'm done. My life is over. I never-I never meant to hurt you. I loved you. I loved you so much that it hurt; but it was like a drug—I could never get enough of that bittersweet pain.
I know that throwing myself off of our balcony into the front yard's jagged rocks might've been selfish; but then again, maybe it wasn't. You and I both know that the world will be better off without me. All I've done to other people is hurt them and push them away, and maybe with me gone forever will help them live their lives. I don't have any good qualities, you know this. I'm selfish, greedy, envious, you name it. Come to think of it, the only good thing about me...
Was you.
And that's why I''m writing this to you. I just want to say...that I'm sorry. And now, as my tears color the page with the pain of broken promises and ended relationships, you can see that. No words that I could ever have said wouldn't be able to convey that. I'm not all that good with words, at least when saying them to other people. Maybe that's why you left me. I've never been able to truly tell you that I love you. That's entirely my fault.
If you're even reading this—which I hope you are—just know that I love you. It hurts me that the last words you'll ever hear from me will be to go away; that I never wanted you around in the first place. I suppose I'm trying to make up for it some how, with the ink of a pen that will never hold the solace of spoken words. Did you find my voice comforting? Was I a home to you like you were to me? Did my eyes hold the universe like yours? Could you still feel that I loved you, even when I didn't say it? I can only hope, for I may never know. For now, in the last minutes of my life while I write this, I will only hope that maybe you will come back, and save me from the monster that is inside of me.
But you won't.
Because you can't.
Because even if you managed to sooth the beast within me, it will come back. I will never be able to escape me; it hounds me. It always will. It yearns for my death.
I suppose, maybe, if I had an ounce of hatred for you in my body, I would be blaming you for this. You were the one that left. You were the one that yelled that you never even loved me in the first place. But I can't. I could never bring myself to hate you because you were the one part of me that made the rest a bit better. And it's not your fault. I am the only one to blame for being selfish, for taking your love and giving nothing in return. And maybe you never really did love me; there is nothing about me to love.
But for you, Antonio, there is nothing about you to hate. Your eyes held the world for me. You were the only person to take interest in me; and for that, I thank you. You made this past year bearable. I remember that I would find myself falling asleep, only to await the morning so I could see you again. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Maybe writing it here enough will make up for all the times that I should've said it.
The window is now broken. I'm not sure if it's from rage, or sadness, or loneliness, or just feeling nothing at all. I'm sorry about that. Will you still live in our house? Will it remind you of all the times we had together? The kisses, the heated moments? Or will it fill you with disgust?
I think that I'm ready to die. I've lived fully, since I met you. Hopefully the balcony is high enough and the rocks are sharp enough. Hell, wouldn't it be hilarious if I lived? I guess it would be very awkward, given that I've almost confessed my soul to you.
Will you be sad to find my body in front of our house? Hurt? Enraged that I had the guts to do it where we both shared so many memories? On second thought, maybe I should've picked a different place to kill myself—I don't want to mar the beautiful things that've happened here.
It's too late for second thoughts, though. I've chosen my fate.
I can still remember what it felt like to have my hand in yours. I can still feel your gentle lips, that have claimed every inch of my body. I can almost feel you next to me—but you're not. If I even manage to somehow live through this ordeal and you don't want me anymore, I don't think I'd be able to love another living soul for the rest of my life. I'm crying again. I guess you can tell, because there are splotches on the page.
But please, please, Antonio, live your life. Even if you are sad that I'm finally gone (which I can't imagine that you would be), move on. Get a new girlfriend or boyfriend. Go out with your friends. I wouldn't be able to stand myself if you stayed stuck on me.
I am so selfish. I'll probably go to hell for this—I deserve it. I deserve to burn for eternity for causing you pain. You, practically an angel. In my eyes you were. Maybe sent to try and redeem my soul. I'm sorry, but my soul is already lost. I drift in the never-ending stream of hopelessness and depression.
You know, I thought love was supposed to be selfless. Kind. Unwanting. But my deep love for you makes me burn with hatred for myself—it makes me feel this greed that I've never known before. I want you. All of you. But I must deny myself this because I just don't deserve you. I hope that God will have pity on me and grant me mercy, so even after leaving this world I'll be able to watch you.
I hear a car driving up the street. My handwriting is now rushed. I need to do this quickly, because if I don't die on impact, my only choice will be to bleed out. It will be painful, yes, but I deserve it. All of it.
Tell...Tell Feliciano that I'm sorry. And that I love him.
Tell yourself that I love you. Because I do. I love you so, so much.
All my love,
Lovino Vargas
[This is a short drabble. I may continue it if I feel like it. But maybe not. I'll let you, dear reader, decide if he lives or not. If Antonio shows up in time to stop him, or call the paramedics just as he falls. If he does die on impact, and the jagged rocks crush his skull, or if he misses, and dies a painful death by slowly bleeding out on the pavement.
By the way, the beast Lovino talks of is depression. Thank you for reading.]