Maybe it's because suicide is something that I will never fully understand. I mean, yes, I can understand the act of taking your own life. But it's the reasoning behind it I just don't get. I don't know that I could ever feel so helpless and so alone, drowning in the waves of my own problems, to think that killing myself would be the best alternative.

Maybe it's because I'm not close to very many people. I could float through the entire high school existence being known by the majority of people there, but never really being a part of them. I made and held friendships for years at a time, relying on the one class that I had with that person. We could be friends in geometry, or Oklahoma History, or even art. We could even acknowledge each other outside of that class. As the years went by, the moments seemed to dissipate, until they turned into nothing at all.

Maybe it's because even though everyone could see you had problems of your own, no one really took it seriously. Me being one of them. Always unsure of how I felt about you, about the idea of an actual friendship between us.

Maybe I'm just pretending to care, and I don't really know what to feel about it.

Maybe I really don't know how to feel about it.

But I just don't understand why, or I can't even fathom a world in which Martin Dixon is no longer a part of it. I don't know why in the matter of what must have just been minutes he could go from being a person alive, awake, and breathing to becoming a statistic.

I know no matter how I may have felt about him at different times, he was a good person.