We walked for a while, talking about that guy and his parking garage. It was cool outside, but not too cold. We're in the prime of our lives, young, vibrant, full of life, and yet we hurt. A lot. Just like you, we hurt now and then. Just like you.

      We kept on walking. She's thought about killing herself before. She gets really upset with her parents, really upset. I'm not always a big fan of her parents for the record. They're alright most of the time, always been nice to me, but now and then I want to just bitchslap the hell out of them until they realize what fuckups they can be. Her parents are great people though. They just make mistakes; sometimes they need a little help. You know what? We all make mistakes, and we all need help now and then.

      I got some good suicide stories that I tell her. I suppose the best parts of them are that I never did it, or that freaky part about what may have been God, or weird luck, intervening, that's pretty cool too.

      I finish up what I had expected to be some ground shaking story, and she says to me, as if she's known it all her life, that "everyone thinks about killing themselves sometimes." It has never occurred to her that may not be the truth. She knew it with every fiber of her body, and she knew it all without fanfare. It wasn't some great revelation to her; it was common knowledge. That was when I began to realize that...well...just realize everything.

      When I had thought about suicide, it always included lines like "Why am I fucked up?" and "What the hell is wrong with me?" "Why do I get to go without love tonight?" "Why am I here?" "Why does this always fucking happen to me? "Why do I curse when I'm talking to myself and WHY AM I TALKING TO MYSELF?"