How Do I Explain

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Let’s start at the beginning.

I remember being 7 years old and having a person that I could always hang out with, a guy that I could always talk to, and friend who understood me. Coming to school wearing the same shirt as a guy. The endless teasing from everyone but him. Hanging upside down on the monkey bars not having a care in the world.

I remember four years later still having that friend. Joking around instead of paying attention in science class. Lighting things on fire and shooting pencils off of rubber bands. Deeper feeling then but strictly unspoken. We were happier showing how we felt. An argument here or there but negligible when looked back on.

The years kept passing and we slowly drifted some but somehow never lost the understanding or the truth between us. He could tell me anything and I did the same.

The day before I saw him after Driver's Ed, that goofy smile on his face. We had no problem joking around. I never thought that'd be the last time I would see him alive.

I didn't know what happened that day...

Or the next...

A regular Monday morning, scrambling to finish up British Literature homework at lunch, joking with friends, planning my Sweet 16. When she told me she didn't know. She couldn't have. With one sentence my world shattered into a million pieces. My mind tried to desperately figure out what could have happened. I just remembered seeing your smiling face. The tears wouldn't stop...

Days later to think about everything and I'm just numb. The only thing keeping me together is knowing that you hated to see me cry. My mind has already run over every memory with you in it, many I had forgotten. Restless sleep and thrust back into the chaos of school, alone to deal with these feeling. My mouth refuses to say your name and 'dead' in the same sentence. It seems like a dream and some part of me is convinced this is just some morbid joke for Halloween but the other part of me is still crying knowing that when I see your body tomorrow it will be the last time.

I couldn’t go. I could face the idea of seeing you in a box pale and covered in makeup. I didn’t want to ruin the image of a thirteen year old you begging me not to cry and telling me I looked so much prettier when I smile or a whipping chunks of hail at each other at the zoo or even walking home together.

I didn’t want to see you as anything other happy.





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