Not all stories are happy, not even the happy ones. There may be a hero, but there is always a victim.
One cold November afternoon, my best friend jumped from the third story staircase, and took her life. No one saw it coming. She had always been so happy and warm, and never talked about suicide, nor depression for that matter. No trouble at home, no worries with friends, she never even seemed to have difficulty with accepting herself. She was a lovely, bright, and talented individual who had such a beautiful future ahead of her.
At first I wouldn't let myself think about my happiness, friendship, or days without her. But eventually, days went on, cheer was spread, and acquaintances who knew what had happened consoled me. Finally, I grew to realize that just because her life ended, didn't mean that mine had to stop too. I'll miss you forever, and I hope you can hear me.