It is 3am and the darkness is a blank canvas on which my mind paints a person and place from my past.

I forget that fifteen years has passed.

I still remember her as exactly as she was.

The peculiar girl who stabbed pencils into the palm of her hand.

Who sat with girls who wore black.

Who broke down in class one time and had to go outside.

Who told me the best way to kill yourself.

Who was afraid of balloons.

Who loved Deathnote.

And who had a sister who believed it’s her right to end her own life.

There was much my fourteen-year-old self didn’t understand about Sara.

But as I got older I become like Sara more and more.

I wish I had her as a friend still.

The kindest hearts have felt the most pain, they say.

Sara hugged me when I was being bullied,

And invited me to sit with her friends,

A ray of light trying to peak through the clouds.

There was hope still at this school.

But I chose to walk away from all of it.

And I hurt her.

I miss you Sara.

Thank you for being my friend.

I am sorry I left.

I wonder what kind of person you are today, if you are even still with us.

And I wonder where I’d be if I had of stayed, and sat where I belonged: with girls who dressed in black.