"If suicide...."

If suicide ever crosses your mind, just know, I’d rather hear your story, than stand in a quiet room, surrounded by flowers, trying to remember your laugh, or how your eyes sparkled, under a sunlit sky. I'd rather sit beside you, find the shadows creeping, and hold your hand, as we dig into the truth, the hurt, the hopes, the thoughts that swirl like autumn leaves. Let’s talk about the nights, when silence feels like a stone, the moments when despair twists your heart, and you feel lost at sea. I'll bring snacks, I’ll bring music, and we’ll unfold the layers, one by one, like stories trapped in a book. If the weight feels heavy, pulling you down, know this: I want to know what makes you feel small, and what makes you feel alive. Your struggles are not burdens, they are bridges to understanding, and I want to cross them with you. I’d trade the empty words of sympathy for the messy truth of your pain, for the chance to laugh in the face of the darkness that tries to take you. Let’s talk late into the night, with the stars as our witness— your voice a flicker of hope, my heart a safe space.