HIM: The blood trickles down her wrist and onto her arm, drying to a color of dark red-sadness. The water in the sink turns pink as the pure sign of life runs over the red darkness of death. No tears in her eyes, do i see, just a blank expression of loss and loneliness. I wonder what it would be like to feel that way. I wonder how it would feel for her to feel the way I do, strong and happy. Is that possible? I am not sure. But for now, as a person full of responsibility, I must keep my head high and help from a distance. Or at least, try to help.

HER: I try to cover up the cuts, even though it doesn't matter much I try, for no help or sympathy could fix me. I cannot be fixed. I have tried, you see, but nothing and no one seem to get through to me. It is a miracle that I am even alive now. Most days I don’t want to be, but the days I do, I want to remember, and I will not be able to remember them if I am not alive.

HIM: I leave the notes. That is how I help. Or at least, think I am helping. I tell her that I see her, that I somewhat understand her pain, whatever it may be from. I tell her I have pain in me to. Everyone does. Today I put a quote down on the little post it note by non other than the William Shakespeare. “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”   

HER: The notes come regularly, at the same time, same place everyday. I like when they are mini stories about his life. The quotes are also warming. I still wonder which teenager, usually arrogant and self centered boy does this for me, daily. The broken clock above the english lit. door says 2:00.

HIM: 2:00. She is just closing her locker and walking into English lit. Only 45 minutes until she walks out of class with the same blank lonely expression. The note slides into her locker smoothly, just as it always has done. No One sees. Good.

HIM: I pass her, see her sad expression and want to reach out and touch her hand, brush her soft and sad face.

HER: “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.” Nice try, whoever you are. This may make me not want to kill myself today, but that feeling will not last very long. I wish it would last.
                
HER: He has been saving my life for a year now. Whoever you are thank you.

HIM: She has been showing me that there is so much to live for, even though she doesn't want to live for it.

HER: Why does he want to help me. I have not done nor fulfilled anything to deserve this treatment. It is funny how the medicines and  shrinks cannot help me, while anonymous notes are what is keeping me alive.

HIM: Why is this beautiful girl hurting. That has been bugging me from the moment I finally figured out she was suicidal. I want to confront her. But I don’t know how to help. As long as she is in school, which is the only way I know she is still alive, I will keep my distance.

HER: I wonder why he sends me these notes. Why does he care. I don’t. Well, that’s not true. I do care, some days at least.

HIM: If she kills herself, I will be broken.

HER: I wonder what he would do if I did kill myself.

HIM: She is right there, standing in front of me. I can walk up to her. Talk to her, touch her.

HER: I look up. I see him. His eyes are beautiful and calm.

HIM: She sees me staring. She smiles.

HER: He sees me staring. For the first time in years, I smile.