you may not understand why

i haven't written in quit a while, in fact, the last time i wrote was the day before a friend of mine decided to hang herself.
i was writing her a letter because she asked me to, said it was more personal than talking on the phone, than exchanging emails. said it would give her something to look forward to while she waited for me, waited for me to get her out of the hell hole town we became friends in.
i got a call the next day, i knew something happened because i felt it in my gut.
"red, im so sorry but brosia hung herself in her room last night. shes gone, the paramedics said her neck was not broken, so she strangled herself. im so sorry... hello? red, are you there?..."
'yes, i am here. thank you for telling me. i have to go, i will be late for work..'
i must say, any normal person would have called in sick, felt some sort of emotion. not me, the only thing i remember feeling was feeling like i lost my breath the night before while i was trying to sleep. i felt no emotion.
instead i felt sick. i felt sick and angry. why would she have asked me to write her if she had no interest in reading it. she clearly wanted me to remember her and associate her with writing. she knew me all too well, she knew i would make that connection.
and i knew her all to well, because in my hand was a good by letter i wrote her, telling her all the things i wanted to tell her before she went, because i knew her. and i knew that the conversation we had the night before was going to be our last but i didn't know why.
i promised her that i would see her soon because i didn't want to stick around much longer. i said that i would see her in a year, and we would talk about all the things i knew were going on but didn't confront her about.
she died on february 28th 2009, today is january 13th 2010. i use to believe that i would see her again. now, i know better than to function on false hope, i know better than to think that i will ever see my friend again, i know better than to write again, because writing is painful, and i know better than to believe in anything but moment. here i am, in this moment, writing.