The blood from his hand burned. He had squeezed his eyes shut, he didn't know how I could go so deep then he imagined the type of pain he had put me though. He wondered what the hell he was supposed to do in life if I was not there with him. It may have only been a few hours since I had died but he missed me. The tears started up again and this time he let them fall one by one without trying to stop them, or hide them.
He crawled out of his closet and grabbed the sweater I had left at his house. He caressed it against his chest, smelling the sweater to see if he could at least smell my old sent to try and never forget me but he knew it would fade slowly and soon enough be gone. He lay on the bed just thinking about different thoughts of suicide that were going through his head. From hanging himself, to jumping off a bridge, to committing the same suicide I did.
The clock turned to 3am and he still hadn't fallen asleep, the picture of me on the floor traumatized him.