It’s Weird

I just wish that I could take his place, you know? Alex died at age 19 with such zeal for life and so many plans. He was the one with motivation and goals. He wanted to live. I want to die. He told me that I was too hard on myself and that I had a future. Then he died. He died before I got back to campus from doctors appointments. I never got to tell him that I love him and that he made me feel safe again, feel loved. He made me feel valued, and I loved him for his humor, his studying habits, the way he smiled, the way he would look at me out of the corner of his eyes, his love for food, his knife collection, his interest in hockey and fencing, our banter, how much he cared for other people, how he was kind and compassionate and funny and ambitious and everything anyone could ever wish for in a person. I’m nowhere near as good of a person as he was, and yet I’m here. Why? I’m the one who has been suicidal since age 4 and has always wanted to die, but the boy who wanted to live and have a future died. It should have been me. He should still be here.