Wilting

Dear Stranger,

The death of my friend, the death of my neighbor, and the death of myself.\

My best friend died the moment she decided she wasn't enough. Her hair dyed first, she cried swearing it would change something about her, anything. Her eyes, the color which was once lit like the blood moon now stared like her soul itself had departed. 

My best friend died the moment she was forced to grow up. The weight on her shoulders whispered to do more, to never stop. The feeling of disappointment, of never being enough crawled down her back like a knife slowly sharpened. 

She died the moment she started to believe she was an adult, She believed that saying yes was always better. That never crying was the solution, Drugs clung to her like sweat on a humid day, the air around her stiff and unpleasant. 

She died the moment the lie became true. It crippled her identity like a runaway criminal. She cried tears that were no longer her's to cry and like a dog who could no longer beg, she became what everyone said she was. 

My neighbor died on a warm sunny day. The air had a light breeze, the sun was starting to rise, I biked home the night before, the wind hitting my face. I jumped off, discarding my bike to the side before running inside for dinner. He caught my eye. I smiled. He smiled. I ran over rambling about my day before deciding it was time to go in. He caught me by my arm handing me a popsicle for the road like usual. 

My neighbor died with warmth beside them. A white dog laid by his side comforting him as he looked to the ceiling. The morning of, I jumped out of bed, my blood pumping.

I ran, the school bus just pulling up. I sat in class. The gun went off and the day went on.

I died the moment someone decided I was grown enough to make grown-up decisions. I died the moment I came out of the womb. My mother gazed down at me with fear and gratitude. For I was alive and happy but for how long would I stay that way? 

I died the moment someone decided I was old enough to be labeled a "dangerous one." Instead of seeing how beautiful this person's eyes were, how their hair bounced and curled, the smile that caused their cheeks to lift up - Instead - the topic became about the color of my skin and not how many cartwheels I could do. 

I died the moment my best friend died. I died the moment my neighbor died. I am dying.

-Blue