Did people usually think about dying? Did they dwell on it or was it just a passing thought? At some point, I was so drawn to understanding what prompted people to take their own life. The thought scared me but I needed to know.
Maybe they didn't understand that pain fades just like everything else. But emptiness? I wasn't sure about that. The poem I had written on suicide...Wait! I haven't updated my stories. I can't believe it slipped my mind, how did I go five days without thinking about my phone or my stories?
Because you almost died. And it's back. I just ignore it and walk to the kitchen to get some water. Freshly baked cookies are in a bowl alongside breakfast, well, whatever it was that was covered in the plate. Ooh, a sticky note. Enjoy. That's it? My father had used a nice blue looking sticky note for just one word?
I pulled it off and the black ink behind caught my attention, Psych! I love you so much baby. Call me if you need me. He had underlined the need me as though compelling me to.
I laughed and folded the paper neatly and slipped it into my pocket. Smiling softly, I picked up a cookie, it had a single letter scrawled on it in blue.
"You good?" Davon asked, making my heart skip a beat in fear. It had become easy to scare me, a loud sound, an unexpected touch. It scared me to my very bone that I could no longer handle surprises. It was time to say goodbye I guess, goodbye to that part of me that lived off surprises and harmless pranks.
"Do people ever think?" I ask without thinking. I looked at him and we burst out laughing.
"Like do they think about stuff, if they're going to make it? If they're going to find someone they love or just kinda die."
He laughed even louder, "You're getting too deep for me. Maybe you should write something." He suggested, picking up a cookie.
"Yeah, an outlet would be nice. There's so much I feel like I need to say, maybe writing it would be better."
Davon's attention was no longer on me. He picked up the cookies two at a time and laid them out on a tray.
"There's something here." He finally said, staring at it like a detective would at a mystery clue. I moved to where he was standing and stared at it intently, I rearranged it, no. That doesn't look right.
I rearranged it again.
"Oh, I ate a piece already."
"Well, your dad 'lov you'." It actually spelled out I lov you, since I had eaten the e and Davon had half of the I left. Leave it to my father to be a little extra.
"If your father was extracted and put in another man, let's say a teenager..."
"Yes, I would go for him. You only get people like that once in a lifetime."
I'm sure my mother had figured that out when she met him. But I wasn't sure if he had always been like this but I hoped, somewhere deep down that he had.
The sense of peace and tranquility, did he always have that? It's said that we always lose in the end, when we finally draw our last breath, but it was different for a believer. When you die, your life in Jesus Christ begins.
It was plain and simple but I hadn't gotten it the first time nor the second but the third time, I did and I found peace in it.