The weather is as sunny and bright as it can be. The sunlight caresses the trees gently, making their leaves shine with a brighter hue than usual. Dogs walk around, pulling their pet humans along with them. People who don’t have a master run around freely, without a care in the world. The birds sing along with the melody of the wind.

Such a cruel day to have a funeral.

The funeral house was too small to fit everyone in, so they all gathered in groups of thirty to pay their respect -and disrespect, whichever they had towards him-, and leave. Most of the students were present there since it seemed like the right thing to do. I, on the other hand, was there for entirely different reasons. While others came for closure, and respect, I came seeking answers.

Sonny is standing outside, waiting for me, her eyes fixated on my face; the same empty eyes that stared at me for hours the day we heard about what happened; the same eyes that were locked on me instead of the board for the first time;

The same eyes that wouldn’t let go of mine.

I also suspected the same thing when the news hit; that the poem I had found belonged to him; that it belonged to Oscar Peto, the boy who left behind a piece of himself on my desk. I don’t know why he did; He probably knew I wouldn’t care, and was only looking for a chance to say his final words to someone, no matter who.

Or maybe he wanted me to care. He wanted me to look for him and stop him. Maybe I was responsible for yet another death.

If I was a normal person, I would have been broken the very second those thoughts penetrated my mind that day. However, my drugs made me quite resistant to despair, and immune to myself. Of course, I felt guilty and sad, but at the end of the day, I was able to get myself together and attend the funeral.

I didn’t know Oscar. I didn’t even know he existed.

To me, boy named Oscar Peto, was a myth. A lone existence that didn't even exist. He was there but he wasn't...

Until he no longer was.

“Did you check the note?” Sonny shatters my thoughts in half. Yesterday, when they announced the news, I immediately thought of the note I had disposed of several days ago. Since Sonny was the one who miraculously remembered the exact poem, she gave me a copy, and thus, I became a temporary detective.

“Yes; and I did find traces of suicidal thoughts and intentions in it.”

“And what you mean is, his intentions were all over the place and it was obvious what that note could possibly have been, and yet, you were too absorbed in your whatever to actually give a crap, and ignored that possibility entirely, am I right?”

“Now that’s going a bit too far.”

“Is it though?” Her sudden icy tone caught me off-guard.

“You read it as well, didn’t you? Why aren’t you blaming yourself too?” I take a defensive tone. Why am I the only one being blamed? I wouldn’t have even known.

“I have already done that, a lot more than I wanted to.” She glances away. I have a feeling she has, she's a human being after all. Sonny blamed herself first and foremost. That’s what it means to be polite and considerate in her dictionary. “Now, it’s your turn to be hurt, and considering your personality, I was kind enough to do it for you instead, because you always tend to hurt yourself more than I do. It wouldn't hurt as much if someone else does it."

I realize her intentions, and stay quiet. My thoughts did go from “I was responsible for a death.” To “How should I have known?” During that conversation. On a subconscious level, it somehow changed something. What she did, was make me build up my defenses again, Although, Sonny and I are both more than aware that I’m not a normal person anymore. I’m immune to despair, and to myself. Even if I was to prevent hurting myself with my thoughts thanks to her fancy techniques, it wouldn’t actually change the way I feel about myself, and everything around me.

Her eyes let go of mine once more, and this time, she turns around and leaves for the campus. With no obligation to follow her, I walk away in the exact opposite direction. I just feel like a bit of distance is needed after that talk.

I never got into a fight with Sonny through the three years I have known her. No matter how many times I insulted her or told her to screw off, she always laughed it off and never got mad at me. I guess witnessing my indifferent face at a boy’s funeral whose death was connected to me, finally put her off.

Last night, I spent hours working on that poem and any possible code it might contain, hidden within those letters. Having found nothing, I decided to rely solely on its content, and the meaning behind it.

“Came with a shattered body, going with a heartful of sorrow,”

A usual, almost obvious description of birth and death. The way one is born with the fragile body of an infant, and the way one goes away with another fragile body, that just fails to work any further, and with a heart full of sorrow; No.

Not a heart full of sorrow.

A heartful of sorrow.

A quantifier.

The tremendous amount of sorrow a heart can possibly contain in itself. Using the formula of the noun spoonful, that was what Oscar called a “Heartful”.

A completely made-up word that just felt right in the concept of the poem.

I sigh. Naomi’s words were even more complicated than this. I wish she was simpler to figure out. I wish…

In other words, I just wanted her to…