I miss you so fucking much. I miss your cynicism, your sharp wit and your ability to still love despite the fact that very little love was ever shown to you. I wish you had called me that night, you had called me at low moments one thousand other times, so why not that night? I am happy to know the last words I ever said to you the week earlier is that I loved you and I wanted you to be better b/c you deserved it. I still have so much guilt though. One million confessions will not make it go away.

Everything changed when you died. I quit my job because I was just dead inside. You were the first boy to love me for the right reasons. You were so much apart of my strength, you always believed in me, you wept for me more than for yourself. I just wish you had allowed yourself to weep for what you had lost. I have so many wonderful memories of you, but I can't share them, they are mine. I still cry too much, I still miss you so much. I feel maimed. I don't go out anymore, I have chased off anyone who reminds me of life with you. I just keep seeing you in that fucking casket and I only want to remember the boy who I loved, not the man that was in that box. I just don't know how to make some sense from this. How do I turn all this pain into something positive.