Hey you.
It's usually around this time of year that I think about you. It's been, what, 6 years or so now, and it's true, life goes on. People grow and live and eat and breathe and love, the same as it has been, the same as it will be.
I think back to our teenage years, and wonder sometimes how we could have ever been so young.
So carefree. So simple.
So blissfully naive.
So alive.
We're supposed to be 26 now, and I still think that I know less than what I know I should.
It's funny. Whenever we visit, I hold one sided conversations and I don't even know why I do that because you're supposed to be in heaven and I'm supposed to be on earth and I don't think there's an answering machine there that records messages.
We all were just kids, thrown together into the same system that spat us out again into an adulthood that you never got to see and every time I see or hear updates on the guys and how life is hard and beautiful and actually happening for all of them I smile and think fondly of them and you for a moment because after 5 years together all the time I have for us now is just one moment.
One.
Loaded.
Moment.
And then I go back to what I was doing and they go back to what they were doing and we can but you can't because you no longer exist in a time or in a space that we can comprehend and you live only in our memory and because of that you will live forever because someone once said that people die twice, once when they breathe their last and once when their name is spoken for the last time and I know that even though all I have of you is sometimes only a moment you won't die a second death as long as any of us draw breath because that is how long we will remember you.
A fifth of our lives we've spent together, you and I and us. Half a decade worth of fragile recollections and they are all we have. I hope they're enough. They have to be. What are we, if not a scrapbook of memories, a box of precious souvenirs.
I hope that's enough.
