My only regret.

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.

And it's been 7 months since you died. 7 months that I've been upset. Things are better now, but I still see and here little things that remind me so much of you that it hurts. 7 months that I've been angry. You know I'm prone to holding grudges. And I'm sorry that you died, and I'm sorry that I wasn't there, and I'm sorry that I'm still so mad at you. I don't know how to make this anger go away. And I don't know how to completely erase everything from that week. I think it's because part of me doesn't want to. Like it's a punishment, and I know why I'm being punished but on the other hand it wasn't my fault. But it also was. And this is difficult. I don't know if we're both to blame, or neither of us are to blame. Not anymore.

Jesus Christ this sounds like a soap opera. Or worse, a diary entry. I guess because it sort of is. I was never one to keep a physical book of my thoughts...My parents would rummage through it and see it and freak. That's a stress that I can live without.

This is where I'll be compiling my thoughts.

And stupid, daily things still remind me of you. After you died I didn't know what to do so I sat in the living room and cut out coupons for seven hours. It was for a silly grocery store promotion.

Apparently it comes every summer. And it came this year, and everything looked just the same. And I cried. I'm sorry. Of course I took the coupons and refused to let anyone else have them, and I cut them out because it felt natural and because I miss you. I cry like an idiot over coupons. I guess that shows how strong people tell me I am.