The tears start to come.
I look down at the small picture in my hands,
its glossy cover shines when the light hits it.
It reflects off of the small boys face staring back at me
its been through so much in the past four years.

Its seen my fights with myself and the nights I just couldn’t hold it together.
Its been ripped to shreds and splashed with warm salty tears.
But it wont die.
It wont die like the person in it.
It wont leave me all alone like he did.
Its just a picture.
A picture.
That is all I have left of my dead best friend.

His eyes look back at me
dark like chocolate.
They were always what would keep me going through out the day.
It was my ninth birthday,
but I remember he put eleven candles on the cake.
So I could pretend to be as old as him.
My heart still skips a beat when I look at that picture
His surprised face all blurry.
Sometimes I feel like Im forgetting what he told me to do when he was gone:
Live life.
Love strongly.
Always make it fun.
Do what makes you happy.
Every bad day
every scary night
every hard time
I look at the picture of my dead best friend
and I remember he would have wanted me to be happy.
Always and forever.