a letter written by mr. Stephen Fry to a girl suffering from depression
It was a cold morning.
Everything is sober, people walking, girlfriends chatting, guys smoking.
Nothing unusual, until i saw you.
Your big, brown eyes staring deep into mine
No, I cant believe you’re looking at me.
Maybe just in the same direction where I’m standing now.
Maybe you’re looking past me.
Past me, to your beautiful girlfriend who can give everything to you.
She can give you unexplainable happiness that you have never felt from anyone before.
Of course, you’re not looking at me.
Of course not.
I’m just the typical girl Taylor Swift describes from one of her songs.
No, I can’t give everything you want.
I shouldn’t have.
I too must resisted.
Like how you resisted talking to me after first period today.
Dammit! I’m not like her.
I won’t shout at you while everybody is looking, or not talking to you when you are tickling me or pinching my arm.
Of course not! I’m not going to do that to you.
I’ll be the sweetest girlfriend you’ll ever have.
The best one, when you are describing me to you friends.
But then, I’m not your girlfriend.
You would never be happy with me than you are with her.
Then you walk towards me, with open arms.
Then suddenly I became sober.
Sober like the other people I was watching today.
People I was looking at before you came.
Now, you are shutting them down.
My eyes are set upon you.
Then without any doubt, I ran towards you and hugged you.
And then it hurt.
It hurt real bad. The blade you used was supposed to be located in your kitchen.
And now it was in your hand. Holding it protectively.
Now, the pain is still in me. INSIDE ME.
It hurts. You must know that.
It hurts real bad. As if the blade is still inside my stomach.
My world fell apart.
I don’t have time to say goodbye.
I can only see your eyes.
*This is a work of fiction. Any damage describe here is purely fictional.