Today I received the news that you were gone. You hadn't moved away, you hadn't gone on vacation. You were dead. You... are... dead. I received the news a month late, but that didn't dull the pain. We were never that close, but I used to sit and wait, wishing that you got on the bus each morning so you could tell me one of your famous jokes. I always thought you had a nice smile, and when I was down, you always did your best to make me feel better. No, we weren't that close. But I considered you a friend - a light in my own darkness. The darkness that blinded me so I couldn't see what you were going through. 

We lost contact for a while, and I can't help but wonder if maybe I could have helped you. If we hadn't stopped talking, would you have messaged me that night? Could I have talked you out of it? Yes, maybe I'm being selfish by blaming myself, but I wish you would have come to me. I wish you would have come to anyone. 

I know I'm to late do anything - to late to say anything. But you were cared for, my friend. Everyone agreed, and still agrees, that your family was and is so close. There was me, and my crazy brothers. I know you touched all of our lives, especially mine. No, we were never that close, but you left me with a handful of memories that I keep remembering from time to time to make the bad times better. I keep remembering those pep talks in the back seats. And the more I think, the more I remember the warning signs. 

I could ask you why you did it, but I already know. I wish there was something I could have done. 

Fly high, my friend. You'll be missed.