Childish Promises | Suicide

I'm terrified of suicide.

Long ago, I made a pact with a friend:

She would never kill herself.

A selfish, silly pinky promise.

A childish, innocent string of words.

A promise coming from the most helpless depths of my being; nothing else would stop you, no sweet comforting words would deter you, so I - graceless, awkward, scared - texted you. Don't die. And you said okay.

And I handled your life like a child.

Months after, you got better.

And a few days ago, you let it slip. You told me, so simply, that you had thought about it more, after the promise.

You really wanted death.

And you told me that you hadn't done it to keep your word.

I was mortified.

Out of all the reasons in the world, you chose to stay for a worthless pact. You lingered in misery so I wouldn't have to cry. You didn't die for a pinky promise.

You handled your life like a child.

And that's what scares me.

There's no grown-up reason to stay.