No one.

Is it to early to post? Probably. I probably don't even feel the same right now as I'll feel tomorrow. And the day after that, it will be different as well. So I'll post now, maybe to remember how I feel right now, and maybe to get it out of my insides. I don't know.

I knew this guy. He was sort of a character, though never in a way you could really pinpoint. He was a lot of things to a lot of people, and to me, he was a work friend who was around my old company nearly since the beginning, like me, who I spent a few months carpooling with, who asked me to help him with something very special for he and his wife at their wedding. That part I can't talk about right now. We weren't the closest of friends, but got along well and his nature was so interesting that it was easy to find something to chat about, or something in common. He loved a lot of things and something we always connected on was music. When I told him that I loved the Cure and the Smiths, he was ecstatic. We talked about how Morrissey's work with the Smiths was far superior to his solo work. We agreed his solo work was useless. We agreed that Simon Gallup was quite possibly the best bassist in existence, and the Cure's melodies were really what made the band. Though I didn't share my band with many people at work, I played him "In Technicolor" once, after he pushed me and pushed me to show him my music. I don't know why I was so against it, but I was. He heard it in the car, while we were driving to work, stuck in traffic one day, like any other. When the song started and my lyrics came in, a second passed before he said, "Woah, is that YOU singing? You're fantastic. For a second I thought you were Gwen Stefani!" That might sound odd, and I don't really sound like Gwen Stefani, but I got what he was saying. It was a complement, and he wasn't the type to give them out like candy. Last winter, when it was impossible to find a Wii, he was magically offered one at Target by a little stock lady, and promptly accepted it because though he had one, he knew that I was hoping to find one. The next day, it sat on my desk chair waiting for me. Now it sits in my house, and I love it.

My old friend took his life last night, after taking the life of his wife. There's little else to say about it, because it was a pointless fucking tragedy. This gruesome reality of someone we knew, not just a somebody on the news who hit the edge and jumped to the point of no return. Sickangryconfusedpissedsickundecided. I don't feel now the way I felt earlier, and I'll feel different tomorrow. But right now I feel like no one should ever know what this feels like. No one. Ever. No one should read news articles where someone they know, or knew, or loved is reduced to a neighbor's description, a legal folder and a crime scene. A Monster. A murderer. No one should see people's pointless, ugly, uneducated comments on such articles. No one should have to imagine what happened. No one should have this. No one. Not one person on earth. Not his family, or her family, or his close friends, or her close friends, or his old friends, or her old friends, or their neighbors, or their acquaintences, or the grocery store clerk, or the mailman, or the random guy on the street, or him, her, she, he or me. No one. And now we all have. And that's where it is right now.