Everyone at school has been raving about you since you killed yourself, as if they give a single shit. Don't worry, though. I at least know that their mantras are far from the truth, only suitable for repairing their shattered conscience.

They've also begun to speculate about what would happen if you were to return. It's not like that's possible, yet they nevertheless persist, always asking me what I would do. And quite truthfully, I really have no idea whether I'd be angry with you or simply glad that you're alive, because the bitterness and lachrymosity of grieving can warp your mind into thinking that future events will be different than they actually will be.

Everyone at school would be bent on pitying you if you did come back, and they expect me to do the same, but when have I pitied a man for attempting suicide? If anything, I should envy him for surviving in the home of death. You could be that strong, Dallon, but you're not coming back. I shouldn't be so foolish as to think you would ever do anything pleasant for me.