Remember the times when we had first met? It was a long time ago, I know; but remember the good times? The times when we had fun and we didn't really care about the other ponies around us? I can’t. The furthest back I can remember was just before high school. That year was a hell of a ride, wasn't it? All our friends had begun to go their own directions once they had fallen in love and such.
But you and me were left together to go to the same high school. Sure, a few friends stayed in the district, but our past friendships had started to break apart. Including ours. You began to be more and more distant from others and more of an introvert than ever before. Octavia, I was your only friend. I had made several more since our old friends, and you were jealous, I could tell. From there it could only have gotten worse.
I know, I’m not one to write at all, especially not any kind of mushy stuff. But still, I feel it is nice to remember you in some kind of way. And dammit, I will stay here for hours until I get all of this off my chest. Heh, you never know, maybe it’s a hidden talent. Who would have guessed that Vinyl Scratch, the “DJ-P0N3” had a secret talent for writing? And found it out while writing a letter to her best friend, hoping her ghost would read it.
You were hurt in high school, and you didn't know how to react. So you didn't talk to anyone and kept it to yourself. Your lack of friends was what was killing you on the inside Octavia. And I think you already knew that. Whenever we hung out, you ended up taking our conversations to your lack of friends. I always told you that the key to having friends was just to lighten up.
But friends came to me naturally, so what did I know about going out and trying to make them with people? Nothing. I was foolish. I had thought it would be so easy for you too. Damn. I saw you in the hall sometimes with your bulky purple backpack and purple ear buds in, listening to Hans Zimmer or another orchestra. I always gave you a big smile, but you usually just glared at me or pretended not to notice me. It wasn't until later did I find out why you had been such a downer.
It was when we were hanging out at my place to share music and chat. It was your song that was playing; a smooth, jazzy spin off on a work by Hans Zimmer. We were talking about school, and how we were doing in our classes. Heh, your 3.7 GPA overshadowed my grades. I had mentioned that my ex was doing worse in school than he was when we were dating. I had a good laugh at that. You looked off-put at that however.
Naturally, I asked you something like, “Why the long face?” You looked away and mumbled so I couldn't hear you. When I told you to tell me, you broke down into tears. Amidst your disheveled breath, you made out the words, “I love you.” I froze. You asked me what I thought and why I had shut up as you began to wipe your eyes. I still beat myself up over the whole scenario.
I just stayed there, staring blankly at the speakers. A saxophone solo had hit a lower chord in the smooth jazz song you had chosen. The disc spun at a gradual pace as the machine processed the disc’s information and turned it into the sweet sound that we call music. Unlike it, another machine in the room wasn't processing information given to it all. That other machine was my brain.
A minute had passed... two... four... six minutes had passed. The song had long since stopped playing and the disc had stopped spinning in the machine, waiting to either be replaced or to be replayed. You had sat there in silence all this time, next to me, until eventually your eyes began to well up with tears again. You left my house, saying goodbye with your silence.
Over the next week I had not seen you outside of school, neither did I text you or called you. I was too shocked that my very best friend was gay... for me! I still buck myself for not even making an effort to help you understand that it wasn't for me. I was just weird-ed out and didn't know how to react... much like you had been with friends for the past year. After that week I finally decided it was time I had come clean and told you that I just wanted to stay friends.
I sat on my bed and dialed your number. You didn't pick up. I tried again, nothing. I tried several more times until my eyes had begun to water up with worry. I ditched the phone and sprinted outside and down the street. After a few miles I came to your house. Everything seemed quieter than usual. I knock upon the door, and you did not answer. I ended up bucking your door off its hinges to allow my passage. I turned your house upside down looking for you, the whole time yelling your name like a babbling idiot.
I left your home and grabbed a local taxi to the Manehattan Bridge. There I found you, sitting upon the edge of the enormous bridge. I yelled at you to stop. You turn around and get down from the edge. You had been waiting for me, if I had not come right then and there, you would have been gone just like that.
I get back home and lay you in bed. When I told you that everything would be alright, I meant it. I begin to leave when you tell me to stay. Long story short, I end up sleeping with you, it was a cold winter after all. The next morning I awake happy, and finally worry free, for the first time in a week. So do you, only, without the waking up part.
You had taken cyanide pills in the bed next to me. At first I had thought you had enough of life, but no, it is only now do I realize that you had wanted all of this to happen. You had been planning to kill yourself at your happiest moments, your lightest hours. You had died at peace, and I did not understand it. At your funeral there was only your family, some of our old, old friends I was talking about earlier, and myself. I had given your corpse a bouquet of violet flowers, your favorites.
And now here I am, nine years later, writing a letter to leave on you grave. Over the past six years I had become one of the most popular music artists today. After high school I kind of kept to myself and just made music and played at clubs for the first three years after school then became the idol for musicians I am now.
I’m twenty four years old now, and I am living in a nice house with a nice car and a nice job, but still, this has been distressing me for all this time. Me and my fiancé have been talking about having kids. Can you imagine that? Me with foals running around? Ha! Well, I have got to go soon, it is my wedding day after all.
Still, it is kind of fitting what message they put in to your tombstone.
When we are in love we are at peace, and we do not want to leave this world without peace
Author's Note
Well i guess i kinda copied off of Pero's Never Stop Smiling story didn't I? Oh well. By the way, if you are an artist and all that stuff please, fucking PLEASE pm me about a cover art idea.
...Crits?
