_Cw: suicide _

_• _

She wrote her final note,

lying on her bed, beneath the window—

the one she wasn’t yet aware

she’d jump from.

The act wasn’t planned,

but the pen under her pillow

and the wall beside her

seemed to call her hand.

She pressed ink into concrete,

scraped at the drywall,

ensuring that anyone who came after

would see the marks she left behind.

Satisfied with her work,

she tidied her room,

then opened the window

for a breath of air.

The blade sat on her desk;

all she had to do was run the water.

But something in the air,

something sickening,

made her try to close the window—

it wouldn’t budge.

It seemed logical then,

that she had to jump.

And so she did.

She died outside,

in the public world,

instead of in the privacy

of her bathroom.

Days later,

when I went to gather her things,

I found her note beneath

the still-open window,

the handwriting illegible.

Nothing more than scribbles.

Maybe intentionally so.

Her last words were hers

and hers only.