Notes: Shockingly enough, this vague piece is 'by' Gohan to Piccolo. I intended it to be more than friends, hence the third 'paragraph' of the story. Ignoring that, it's pretty mild.
I hardly even knew you.
How could I? You were nothing but a mystery to most. You hardly spoke, and you were always busy. To this day, I still don't know how on Earth you made any time to spend with me. To this day, I still ask why you let it all happen. And, to this day, I wonder whatever became of you---of us.
If there had been an 'us'.
Sometimes I think no one else could possibly understand and feel the same bond we've always shared. But, no. I'm not naïve anymore. I've grown older, and I've grown stranger. I'm much more aware of what others go through and how they feel. If there's one thing I've studied with you, it's human capacity. No one but you could have forced me into the person I am now. I used to question whether I should be thankful or spiteful for this, but in the end, I've decided that I've changed into someone better…just as you had once admitted that you also changed. Feelings are mutual.
Nevertheless, as an 'adult', I have a void in my life where you were. That once bright green glow of unsurpassed dedication and inner power is gone from me now. What else is there for me? Yes, I have a wife and child, and they are dear and precious to me. But they could never, ever, ever take your place; they will forever be unable to fill in that vacuum of my heart, mind, and soul that you hesitantly took residence of so early in my life. How often do I wish I could cry out for you and have you immediately by my side! If only…
But what is the use? All the emotions, the memories, the writings…They can do nothing for anyone now. They simply serve as the covering of a shell, a shell of the person I used to be. Life is not meant to be one enormous regret, yet I find myself living just like this. I should be able to get over this and then move on with my life…but with you, committing such a deed is impossible. Not only would I convince myself of a betrayal towards you, but I would be undertaking a disastrous deed against myself as well. Nothing more can be done.
No matter how clichéd, what others say is true: some scars never fade. And they bleed and fester until that person is dead from the inside-out. Nothing of that person is left.
Not a shell. Not a spirit. Nothing.