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Sometimes, when I’m alone, I can still feel you laying asleep on my chest.
I always thought it was strange, the way you would show up out of the blue and curl up to me in my bed. Seeing you like that caught me off guard, all quiet and sad and - dare I say - needy. Every time I thought I knew you, every time I thought I understood you, you’d come along with a whole new side to your personality, and I’d find myself completely floored all over again. I used to like those nights, Jim, the peaceful ones where I’d fall asleep with you tucked away in my arms.
I knew from the minute I met you that you were damaged. It showed, you know. Every facial expression; every smile, every frown, every laugh… It showed. Your eyes, Jim, it was in your eyes. I knew from the second I saw you that there was some kind of awful, tragic devastation lurking behind them. There was a terrifying darkness in you that I’ll never forget.
I miss you. I didn’t think it possible. I’m not the sociable type and I have never been a ‘people person’. Now, as I lay alone in bed, I miss you. And I think I hate them. I think I hate them all. You must have rubbed off on me, because the hatred you held for the world around you is slowly but surely becoming my hatred.
I hate this world for what it did to you. I hate this world for taking you away from me. I hate you, Jim. I hate you for leaving me on my own here; leaving me with them.
You were always so full of life on the outside. Playful, sometimes even downright silly. You were funny, one of the few people who could make me laugh. You were interesting and, let’s face it, completely mad. I’ve never met someone as mental as you. It was balanced out, or so I thought, by your brilliance. I always admired you for that.
Without you, I’m bored and I’m empty and I’m alone. There’s no one left to challenge me quite like you did. Cases come and cases go, some easy, some difficult, but none of them offering the same flavour as yours did. Christ, Jim. The expression on your face when you held my hand and looked into my eyes, right before you shoved that gun in your mouth and…
You were a portrait of a broken man. Why did you do it, Jim? Why did you end it?
Why…?