I am so, so sorry that I wasn't there when you needed me most. I am sorry that I let you die alone. You mustered all your strength to hold my hand and whisper two words to me. "Don't go." And I left. I could've stayed longer, should have. I knew you were wasting away, but I left. And then so did you. You wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't eat. Wouldn't hold my hand anymore. You stopped caring, and honestly, I feel partially responsible. You chose to die on me. Begged me not to go but then you left permanently.
I was there when you stopped breathing. When you gave up. I came back, but I was too late. You were too far gone. And even when you were dying, I couldn't bare to stay for long. I left. Again. Couldn't stand to watch you fade. And then you did...You died. I'm sorry, for everything. I didn't realize what I had until you were gone.
This weight has been on my chest since you died. I still think about it, and I don't know what to do.
And I'm mad that you made it so hard to leave. You tore my heart out. You smashed it when you died. It wasn't fair to anyone what you did. You just gave up and left us all broken in your wake. And I hate myself for still being mad at you. This won't end, and we're both to blame. I want you to know that I still cry over it. I still stay up late into the night Picturing your lifeless body. I still worry about how the others are coping. This is you're doing...our doing.
I can't keep carrying this guilt around.