What If

Last night I was told that a girl I know had committed suicide. She had killed herself. Hanging.

It is not that I really knew her, because we had shared just like two or three days of our lives together. She was the friend of a friend of my ex. So there were two people between us and we never got in touch after the day she left my flat in London, about three years ago. And I don't even think I ever asked about her, nor she did about me, I guess.
But the think I remember of her is that she was a fine lady. Just one year older than me, working for a big international company, married and with a one year old child. She seemed just fine in her life. Just great. The friend does not know what happened. No one seems to know. What do we know? We know nothing about the people we share moments with. I don't think I am the kind of guy who would do such a thing (you never know, do you?) but I could just be killed tomorrow in a car accident and what then? This words would be hanging here for a period of time, till Google decided to remove them. I would be erased under no choice. Under no question. And you... you'd have your TTTD feed on your Google Reader and it wouldn't shine, it wouldn't tell you I am alive. So you wouldn't notice. You would just be some people who happen to know a bit about a person you know nothing about and you couldn't care less. Well, some of you've got my contact details. You'd probably get worried sometime, send an email, make a phonecall or two, write home and even take a train here. I am super optimistic. Who would do that? Huh? Oh, well, I know Who and I'd do the same. But I guess I need just a couple of fingers to count them.

The reason I decided to talk about that is not cos I want to let you know what I want for my funeral (all profit organs out and the rest burnt and dumped anywhere, at the Thames or sommin'), it is because of a convo I had long ago with one of that Who's above.

Death. I am not really scared of Death. I'm scared of what comes straight before and straight after. What comes before is the act of dying. The how and the when and the why. You can guess why I am scared of that (since I am scared of so many things). But what comes afterwards? Who knows. But I don't care about if God happens to exist (cos if S/He/It does, is so super good that would forgive me for my "sins", sins that, on the other hand, have been described as such by humans, not really by God him/her/it-self, so p'aps S/He/It will not even think they are sins --- or whatever) or if I reincarnate, or just "end". What I am scared about is the fact that I will regret something. I don't mean my deeds and dones. I mean my didn't-do's, actually. I mean the fact that I haven't written a line in over a month. The fact that I was suposed to end that story by the end of this month of August, that it had to be finished off by the 15th so I had time to correct it. The fact that I haven't finished the other two important stories of my life. The fact that I hadn't done things that I should have done before, I haven't said things that you wanted me to say but I told you I couldn't tell them, I haven't listened to the music I need to listen, I haven't read all the books I intended to, I haven't watched and shared with you the films and plays that my heart is demanding for, I haven't learned all the words and facts and things I intend to. And so many of those things.
I even didn't get a proper kiss from you.
I haven't got a "forgive me" just yet.
I couldn't let you know how much I love you.
I wouldn't hold your hand and press it to my chest, so you'd know I fell for you.
I... just... I just have so much to do.
But what is worse, what I would really regret, is being such a lazy cow. I am crying now while I could be writing that story, or studying, or jumping on a train to hold you hand, or taking a plane to tell you how much I miss you, or just fucking playing that tune out loud and sing myself dumb.
Or just stepping out and feel the fresh air.

I'll start with that.

Listening to "1234" by Feist.