I wonder what you will say here at my funeral considering you were the one who killed me. Lord knows you’ll be asked to speak. Will you say, “Here lies the girl who trusted me with everything, even her life. So much so that I decided to just take it because I thought she no longer deserved to live?” Or will you say, “Today we bury the one person who thought I was better than this, better than my past, but she was wrong. Now let’s put this bitch six feet under so I can go smoke?” Honestly, the options are endless. But I know you will get up there in front of that microphone, in front of my family and real friends, and even in front of God, and you will lie your ass off. You will say all the things expected of poor grieving you. You will lie, lie, lie. What a best friend you are. You’ll be sure to get a seat in the front row. Though you and no one else will be able to see me, I’m glad you’ll be there up front. I want to watch you grit your teeth through fake tears and clinch the sides of the podium because this is all just “too much” for you. You think you’ve gotten away with it all. Soon I will be buried and forgotten. You’re so wrapped up in the almost euphoric high of committing a crime and not getting caught that you’ve gotten cocky and complacent. But you have no idea. Your nights of sleep and peace are over. The past is about to come back to haunt you.