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Josh,

Yesterday A and I went to the building where you took your life. On the way there we noticed a banner on a lamp post not 20 metres from the front door claiming the university was "working to improve mental health support." I'm sure it wasn't an intentional point they were making to put it there, but it certainly made me just a little more angry at the whole institution.

As we walked in I just had to look up; the 5th floor balcony seems even higher from inside. I stopped and stared for a minute or two. I knew people might see me and think I was weird, especially any freshers who probably have no clue it happened, but I didn't care. I needed to do it. My brain noted the higher barriers put up on the 4th and 5th floor balconies. I was glad someone had finally used their brain but I'll be honest Josh, a part of /my/ brain saw it as merely a challenge.

As I walked on through the foyer towards the room where our social was being held, my brain noted every single mark and stain on the floor. They were probably from shoes or spilled coffee, but I couldn't help but wonder if they were a small mark you left behind.

I'd hoped that once we got into the room we were in and I was distracted by other people that I'd forget where I was. I slowly settled in a little, but I just couldn't shake the thought. In the end I messaged E, hoping he would understand. It helped a lot. It seems we both view the Maths and Stats building as the closest thing to a grave that we have nearby. We talked about how even though your body died elsewhere, it's the place the Josh we knew died and he told me he also feels an unexplainable pull towards the building whenever he's on campus. It's nice to know that if I am slightly odd then at least I'm not alone! (I can just hear you smirking as you say "if?!" back to me).

Later on I led A out of the social in search of water, but really I knew that I wanted to go to the 5th floor. He agreed to go but I could tell that he was reluctant. Two things struck me as the lift doors opened. First, the balcony was right there in front of us. I'd expected it to at least be restricted with card access required but no, anyone could get there. Second, the temporary barrier there was covered in wrinckled posters. Someone had clearly attempted to put a display up at short notice, to draw attention away from how rushed and temporary the flimsy white panel seems and the questions it brings. Anything to maintain the unis reputation I suppose.

I felt so guilty as A begged me not to, but I just had to stand on one of the chairs and look over the top of the barrier. I don't know what I expected to see; it was just a long way down to the foyer. I guess I just needed to know what you'd seen. The whole time we were up there, everything I saw, my mind wouldn't let me forget that it was probably the last things you'd seen. That silver clock. That blue and orange carpet. The great glass ceiling and tiny white tiles below. I doubt you paid much attention though, your mind was set on other things.

I think that maybe I thought going up there would answer some of my questions, but as is often the case it simply presented more. I just wanted to know more details; gory and twisted questions I knew it would be wrong to ask. I wanted to know how long you stood there, staring at the floor below. I wanted to know whether you fell to the left or the right of the modern orange sofa sitting below, or if you simply fell across that. I wanted to know how you held yourself hanging off that meter-high orange barrier to destroy the back right side of your brain so perfectly. I wanted to know how it sounded when you hit the ground; if anyone saw you and how your body looked. Questions I don't think I could ever admit to the others you loved.

We sat up there for half an hour maybe, talking about the night before you died. I think soon I may be able to talk about it with you too, just not tonight. It didn't quite feel like a grave up there like I thought. Often at graves, though I believe in no afterlife, I dont feel alone. That effect was diluted in there somehow, maybe just because it isn't where you are.

It was the closest I'd felt to crying about you in a long time, but I had to hold it back as we needed to go back to the social. Going up there did help though, I felt more settled once we got back in, almost like the elephant in the room had been faced head on and dealt with. I still couldn't help but stare up there again when we left, though.

I miss you so much Josh,

C