I read what you wrote inside your notebook. You know; the one with horses on it that look like penguins, that one. The little blue one that's next to your bedside table – I read it. I know the truth. I didn't believe them before, but the truth really does hurt. It hurts a lot.
I read what you wrote inside your notebook. The part that was in the form of a letter to the girl who made your life a living hell – I read it. I read your words as you said you were writing a pointless letter, that you never really would send it, but it made you feel better. I read the part where you said you didn't hate the girl, and I didn't understand.
My mum told me a little while ago that you confessed to your mum that you had wanted to die. I didn't believe her. Well, for a while I did, bur then I got to thinking. She said not to tell you. She said that if you weren't going to tell me then I "shouldn't know". She said that I should play dumb. And a voice in my head whispered to me and said she was lying. You would never do something like that. You would never kill yourself…would you?
I read what you wrote inside your notebook, inside your letter. I read the paragraph where you told that hellish girl that you almost killed yourself. I read the paragraph where you said that you wanted to die.
I read what you wrote inside your notebook. I read it, I read it, I read it. Now I really wish I hadn't.