Every night I cry myself to sleep. I know that I did a terrible thing when I hurt you; I didn’t realize how much I did until the next day. I know that we were fighting. I know that you were pissed and suicidal. I never thought I would be the reason you killed yourself. I feel so guilty: so ashamed. I want to go back and change what I said to you. That night I texted you, “I’ll talk to you in the morning.” You replied, “Goodnight; just be careful.” The next day I got a call from your mom, saying you ran into a pole. I knew that you had tried the same way before; I was one of the few people you told. I should have known that what I said to you would drive you over the edge. I cheated on you; you hated me for that. So many times you had told me that you didn’t know what you would do without me. I should have seen it then. I couldn’t take the pain I know I caused you, so I ended it. I didn’t know that because of this you would end your life. They say it was just an accident, that you were drunk, texting and driving too fast. I know you were drunk because of me, and you were texting me. Because of me, you took your life and I hate myself for it. I don’t deserve to be happy. I didn’t make it to your funeral; I regret that. Your mom gave me the ring I gave to you back; I buried it at your grave. I still wear the one you gave to me every day. I sit here and stare at it. I think of everything we did together; all that we had planned, and because I screwed up, it will never happen. Guilt rides my back every day and depression every night.