Today was Brendon’s last day.
And I swear
nothing felt real about it.
The halls were still loud,
people still laughing,
teachers still talking like normal—
but all I could think about was
after today,
he’s not gonna be here anymore.
And the thing that hurts the most is
we didn’t even get one last greenhouse day.
The seniors had field day,
we had a sub,
and everybody was stuck inside.
So the greenhouse just sat out there empty.
And now I can’t stop thinking about
how the last time we sat in there together,
I didn’t know it was the last time.
I didn’t know one random day
would end up becoming a memory
I’d replay over and over.
Because that greenhouse was never really about smoking,
or skipping time,
or doing dumb ****
It was about him being there.
The heat trapped in the plastic walls,
both of us sitting there laughing at random stuff,
talking about nothing important—
and somehow those became
the best parts of my freshman year.
He’s more than just a friend to me.
He’s like the older brother I never had.
The kind of person
who checks on you without making it obvious.
The kind of person
who notices when you’re too quiet.
Even when we were high,
he’d still look over and go
“you good?”
Like it was automatic.
Like making sure I was okay
was just part of who he was.
And I don’t think he realizes
how much that meant to me.
Today, before he left,
I dapped him up
and handed him the letter.
That white envelope
with “Happy Graduation” written across it.
And I told him,
“don’t open it till later
so nobody sees it.”
Because I knew if he opened it right there
everything would suddenly feel too real.
He just nodded,
calm as always.
Lowkey.
Chill.
Like he didn’t know
he was holding a goodbye in his hand.
And then he walked away.
And that was it.
No movie moment.
No huge goodbye speech.
Just the sound of the hallway,
a dap up,
a white envelope,
and the weird feeling
of watching someone important leave your life
while everybody else keeps moving like normal.
Later on,
I ended up in the bathroom with my friends.
And I cried a little.
Not a full breakdown.
Just quiet tears
while trying to laugh it off at the same time.
Because I didn’t know
one person graduating
could hurt this much.
Not because he’s gone forever—
just because school won’t feel the same anymore.
The greenhouse won’t feel the same.
The halls won’t feel the same.
Everything’s still gonna be there—
except him.
And I think that’s the saddest part.
Next Friday at 7PM
he’s gonna walk across that stage,
everybody cheering for him—
and I’ll probably be cheering too.
But part of me will still be stuck in today.
Stuck in that hallway.
That dap up.
That white envelope.
Stuck wishing
I had just one more normal day with him.
One more greenhouse day.
One more laugh.
One more “you good?”
Because sometimes
the people who become part of your everyday life
don’t realize how empty everything feels
after they leave.
And maybe years from now
he won’t remember this hallway,
or that greenhouse,
or the envelope in his hand—
but I will.
Because some goodbyes
don’t break your heart all at once.
They do it slowly.
Every time you walk past the place
someone used to be. Next week, the greenhouse will still be there… just missing the person who made it feel alive.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 4:43 PM UTC
Tomorrow is your last day.
And the weird part is
Everything still looks normal.
The halls are still loud,
The greenhouse is still hot as hell,
people are still laughing like nothing’s changing—
But it is.
I went from not knowing you at all
to you becoming one of my best friends
in one school year.
That’s crazy to think about.
Now I can’t picture this place
without you in it.
I keep thinking about the small stuff.
Sitting in the greenhouse,
sunlight hitting the plastic walls,
everybody talking over each other,
You're laughing at something dumb,
I'm laughing harder because of it.
Those random moments
became my favourite parts of school.
Not classes.
Not lunch.
Not anything important.
Just chilling.
You always made everything feel easy.
Easy to laugh.
Easy to relax.
Easy to just exist around somebody.
Even when we were high,
you’d still check on me without making it obvious.
Just a quiet
“you good?”
like it was nothing.
But it wasn’t anything to me.
And I keep thinking about that day outside
When you told me to come sit on the stairs
and watch the ******** tournament with y’all.
Such a random memory.
But I think that’s why it matters.
Because friendships are built out of random moments
That doesn’t seem important
until they’re almost over.
Now there’s an actual date attached to all of this.
May 22nd, 2026.
7 PM.
Football field lights.
Caps and gowns.
Your name over the speakers.
And I already know
That’s when it’s gonna hit me.
That after tomorrow,
There’s no more randomly seeing you around school.
No more greenhouse days.
No more hearing your voice somewhere nearby.
No more “you coming”
Just memories
stuck in places you used to be.
And honestly,
That *****
Because you’re funny af,
chill af,
and one of the realest people I met this year.
You made school feel less awkward.
Less lonely.
You made me feel included
without even trying.
And I don’t think you realise
How much that meant to me.
I know you’re gonna do well after graduation.
I know you and Taylor are gonna be good, too.
I just wish there were more time.
But I guess that’s the thing about graduation—
Someone leaves,
And everybody else has to learn
How to be there without them.
So I guess this is goodbye.
Goodbye to greenhouse days.
Goodbye to random laughs.
Goodbye to seeing you in the halls every other day.
And goodbye to one of the best friends
I got it during my freshman year.
I’m really gonna miss you
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 10:10 PM UTC
Dakota doesn’t talk about Colten softly.
He talks about him
like someone still trying to hold onto a fire
after it had already burned out.
Like if he keeps telling the stories,
keeps saying his name enough,
His little brother won’t disappear completely.
Sometimes late at night
when we’re all sitting around quietly,
Dakota starts talking about the old days.
And you can see it in his face immediately—
that mix of love and heartbreak
That only older brothers understand.
He told us once about this random night
When Colten was around fourteen.
Dakota was in his room,
music blasting loud enough
to shake the walls a little,
LED lights glowing in the dark,
The window was cracked open to let the smoke out.
And Colten walked in
already laughing about something.
Dakota said he looked so young back then.
Still just a kid.
Still, he's an annoying little brother.
Colten asked to hit the pen,
and Dakota laughed and told him,
“Man, get outta here.”
But eventually he handed it over anyway.
And they just sat there together
passing it back and forth,
music blasting through the speaker,
laughing until they couldn’t breathe,
talking about random stuff
that probably felt important at the time
but doesn’t even matter now.
What matters is that they were together.
Just brothers.
No grief.
No funerals.
No hospitals.
No Army leave spent sitting at a death site.
Just two brothers
thinking they had years left.
Dakota said sometimes
That memory hurts more than anything else.
Because it was normal.
And normal is what got stolen from him.
Now every year when Dakota gets leave from the Army,
He comes home
and goes straight to the place Colten died.
Same road.
Same spot.
Like his body remembers it automatically.
And he just sits there.
Sometimes talking.
Sometimes crying.
Sometimes staring at the ground
like he’s trying to understand
How can somebody be there one second
and gone the next.
He tells Colten everything.
About Army training.
About life.
About all the things he wishes
He could’ve told him in person.
And every single time
His voice breaks.
Because grief doesn’t care
How strong you are.
Dakota keeps a picture of Colten
inside his Army helmet.
Right where he can see him.
One time after training,
Some guys saw the picture
When he took the helmet off.
One of them laughed and asked,
“Who’s that, your boyfriend?”
Dakota told us
He just stared at them for a second.
Then his face changed completely.
And with his voice breaking
He said,
“No, *********
That’s my little brother.
He got shot and died
and I couldn’t save him.”
And when Dakota told us that story,
Nobody spoke.
Because you could hear it in his voice—
that guilt he carries everywhere.
Like he still believes
being the older brother
meant he was supposed to stop bad things
from happening.
Even though he couldn’t have.
I think losing Colten
changed Dakota forever.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
In the way he looks at old pictures for too long.
In the way certain songs make him leave the room.
In the meantime, he still goes back to that spot every year.
In the way his voice shakes
every time he says “my little brother.”
And I think the saddest part is this—
Dakota still loves Colten
like he’s alive.
Because brothers don’t stop being brothers
just because one of them died. 🤍
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 7:35 PM UTC
They laugh,
throw the words around
like they don’t weigh anything,
like they’re just jokes,
just something to say
to get a reaction—
“bang,”
finger guns,
smirks,
laughter—
and I just stand there
because I don’t hear a joke,
I hear that night.
You think it’s funny
because it’s not real to you,
because it’s something you’ve only seen
on a screen
or heard about
for a second
before moving on,
but I didn’t move on,
I lived it,
I’m still living it.
I know what it sounds like
when everything changes,
I know what it feels like
to drop to the ground
and not understand why
everything suddenly feels wrong,
I know what it’s like
to hold someone
and beg them to stay
like your voice could keep them here.
So when you laugh,
I don’t,
because for me
it’s not a punchline,
it’s a memory
I can’t turn off.
It’s his hand in mine,
my voice shaking,
refusing to let go
even when they told me I had to,
being pulled away
while still reaching back
like I could undo it
if I just tried harder.
You say it like it’s nothing,
like it doesn’t mean anything,
but it meant everything to me,
it took everything from me.
You don’t see the after,
the quiet,
the way names hit different,
the way certain sounds
make your chest tighten,
the way I pretend I’m okay
when people joke about it
because explaining it
would ruin the moment.
You don’t see
how it stays,
how it follows me
into random days,
into silence,
into moments that should feel normal
but don’t anymore.
So no,
it’s not funny,
not to me,
not when I’ve lived through
the part you joke about,
not when I still carry it
every single day.
You laugh
because you can—
I don’t
because I remember. 🤍
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 7:34 PM UTC
I didn’t mean
to fall this fast
I didn’t mean
to think about you
in every quiet moment
But now I do
You’re in the small things
in the way I smile
at my laptop
for no reason
in the way
My whole mood changes
Just hearing from you
And I think—
No, I know
I’m really in love with you
not just in a loud way
not just in the “I love you” texts
But in a soft way
The way my heart feels calmer
when it’s you
the way everything
makes more sense
when you’re there
even if “there”
is just a screen
even if it’s miles away
You still feel close
And you’re so sweet
in ways I didn’t even know
i needed
the way you ask
If I’m okay
Like it actually matters
the way you tell me
I’m not annoying
Like I was never too much
the way you say
“I love you”
like it’s easy
like it’s real
And I believe you
every time
You don’t try too hard
You don’t force anything
You just care
and somehow
That’s what makes it
mean everything
because you make me feel
safe
not judged
not questioned
just wanted
just cared about
just… loved
And I didn’t know
How much I needed that
until it was you
giving it to me
and yeah
We’re far apart
too many miles
too much distance
too much waiting
for a day
We don’t even know yet
when we’ll finally be
in the same place
But even with that
I still choose you
I choose you
on the quiet days
on the sleepy calls
When you barely talk
on the days
when timing isn’t perfect
on the days
When all I can do
is miss you
because loving you
It isn’t just about
being close
It’s about
staying
even when it’s harder
even when it would be easier
to give up
And I won’t
because you’re worth it
every late night
every wait
every mile
I’d go through all of it
again and again
If it means
I get to have you
and maybe
I don’t say it perfectly
all the time
Maybe I don’t always
have the right words
But I feel it
so deeply
every time
I think about you
every time
You say my name
every time
You remind me
I’m not too much
I love you
in a way
That’s soft
and steady
not rushed
not forced
just real
and it’s you
It’s always been you
and somehow
even from far away
You still feel
like home
FOR ANYONE READING THIS
People say long distance doesn’t work
They say it’s too hard
too far
too much
But they don’t see
the quiet love
that grows in it
the patience
the trust
the way two people
choose each other
again and again
even without touch
even without closeness
long-distance love
isn’t weak
It’s strong
because it survives
everything that tries
to pull it apart
and if it’s real
Distance won’t end it
It’ll only prove
How much does it mean
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 6:58 PM UTC
That night don’t feel like the past—
it still breathes.
Streetlights flickering like they knew
something was about to break,
like the air itself went quiet
just to watch it happen.
You were right there.
Not a story. Not a rumor.
Right there.
Your best friend—
not just a name people say
when they want to sound sad—
but someone who laughed with you,
walked with you,
stood next to you like tomorrow was promised.
And then it wasn’t.
The sidewalk still remembers—
the way everything stopped,
the way your hands didn’t know
where to go or what to do,
the way your heart tried to outrun
what your eyes were seeing.
You keep replaying it—
every second stretched too long,
every sound too loud,
every moment burned in
like it refused to leave you alone.
People talk about “that night”
like it’s a headline,
but they didn’t feel
what it did to your chest.
They didn’t see
how something inside you
never stood back up.
Now every quiet moment
ain’t peaceful—
it’s loud with memories.
Every laugh feels borrowed.
Every smile feels temporary.
Every goodbye feels like
it might be the last one again.
You started seeing the world different—
like safety was a lie
people tell themselves to sleep.
Like the streets don’t care
who you are,
just what moment
they take you in.
And sometimes you wonder—
if you could go back,
change one second,
say one thing different,
pull them away from that place…
But time don’t listen.
And regret don’t heal.
So you carry it—
that night,
that loss,
that piece of you that stayed there
on that sidewalk.
And the hardest part?
They celebrate him now.
Say his name with respect,
with love,
with “we miss you” posts and candles—
But you remember
when he was alive.
You remember
how real he was.
And that’s what hurts the most.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 4:25 PM UTC
April is blue
but not the pretty kind
not the sky, not the ocean
it’s the kind that means
“pay attention”
“this is happening”
“this matters”
and it does
because of you
Bronson
you’re not just someone I know
you’re like my little brother
and that means
every time you hurt
it felt like something in me hurt too
I remember the days
you walked into school
and I could just tell
you didn’t even have to say anything
it was in the way you carried yourself
the way you got quieter
the way you still tried to act normal
like everything was okay
even when it wasn’t
and I remember wishing
I could do something
anything
to make it stop
to take you out of it
to give you a life
where you didn’t have to be strong all the time
because you shouldn’t have had to be
you’re a kid
you deserved peace
you deserved safety
you deserved a home
that actually felt like one
but even with everything
you never turned cold
you still laughed
still joked around
still cared about people
and that’s what gets me the most
because that kind of strength
is rare
that kind of heart
after everything
is something people don’t talk about enough
you didn’t let it change who you are
and I’m so proud of you for that
I really am
and now
knowing you’re somewhere safer
it means everything
maybe it’s not perfect
maybe healing takes time
but at least now
you have a chance
to just be a kid
the way you always should’ve been
this isn’t just about awareness
this is about people like you
kids who go through things
they never should
kids who still show up
still survive
still hold onto who they are
even when the world gives them every reason not to
so yeah
April is blue
but to me
it’s also about you
about your strength
your story
your heart
and I hope one day
you see yourself the way I do
not as what you went through
but as someone
who made it through
and still has so much ahead of him
I’ve got you
always
and if the world ever forgets to protect you again, it won’t forget that I’m here to stand in front of it with you.
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 10:35 PM UTC
it’s only been days
since we found our way back
but it doesn’t feel new
it feels like something
that was always there
just waiting
for us to say yes again
and now everything
feels softer
like when i’m laying in my bed
phone in my hand
waiting for you
pretending i’m not checking
every few minutes
but i am
because it’s you
and when you show up—
on my screen,
in your room,
laying there like it’s nothing—
everything in my head
just… quiets
like all the noise
all the stress
all the little things
i was overthinking
just disappear
and it’s just you
your face
so easy to look at
like i could memorize it
without even trying
your hair
never perfect
but always somehow
exactly right
your eyes—
calm
steady
like they don’t rush anything
like they don’t rush me
and i love that
i love you
in the way you don’t even notice
in the way you care
without making it a big deal
“did you eat today?”
like it matters
like i matter
and when i say
“sorry if i’m being annoying…”
you don’t even think about it
“you’re not annoying”
like it’s obvious
like i was never too much
and i don’t think
you understand
how much that stays with me
how much
you stay with me
even when you’re not here
because you’re not here
you’re miles away
in a place i can’t just go
an ocean between us
1,300… 1,400 miles
ten to twelve hours of flying
just to get to you
and i hate that
i hate that i can’t just
sit next to you
lean into you
feel your arms around me
instead of this—
screens
calls
waiting
always waiting
and then i’m at school
watching everyone else
holding hands in the hallway
laughing between classes
standing close
like distance isn’t real
and i think—
****
i wish i had that
i wish i could have you
like that
not later
not someday
now
but even then—
even when it hurts
i still choose you
because what we have
isn’t fake
it’s built in quiet moments
in long calls
where we don’t even talk
you playing your game
me laying on my side
just watching you
like that’s enough
because it is
and then—
“i love you”
“i love you more”
“no i do”
“nope”
over and over
like we’re never gonna stop
trying to prove it
and maybe
that’s my favorite part
because it’s soft
it’s real
it’s ours
and you make me happy
in a way
i don’t know how to explain
like everything
just feels lighter
like even when things aren’t perfect
i’m okay
because i have you
and yeah—
it’s only been days
but i’m really glad
it’s you
out of everyone
it’s you
and even with the distance
even with all the waiting
i’d still choose this
i’d still choose you
every time
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:00 PM UTC
Fifteen, and already feeling the ground shift under my feet,
like life isn’t just something far away anymore—
It’s right here, starting in small places,
starting with me.
There’s that Exxon in town,
the one most people pass without thinking twice,
But I can still feel the hum of it in my chest,
the memory of that training shift—
how I stood there, nervous at first,
then steadier, then sure,
like maybe I belonged there more than I thought.
And when they said I did well,
it didn’t just sound like words—
it felt like a door cracking open,
like someone saw something in me
that I’m still learning to see in myself.
Eight dollars an hour, every two weeks,
It might not sound like much to anyone else,
But to me, it sounds like independence,
like the first real piece of a life I’m building
with my own hands.
I imagine holding that paycheck,
not just money,
but proof—
proof that I showed up,
that I tried,
that I’m capable of more than just dreaming.
And I won’t waste it.
I’ll save it, stack it, protect it,
Watch it grow little by little
into something bigger than it started.
Maybe a four-wheeler first—
mud on the tires, wind in my face,
freedom humming under me on back roads
that feel like they belong to no one but me.
And then one day, when I’ve got my license,
when I’ve done it right and earned it fully,
I’ll go after my dream—
a Ford Mustang,
engine loud, heart louder,
the kind of car that doesn’t just drive
But announces that I made it somewhere
I once only imagined.
Not rushed.
Not handed to me.
Earned.
And while I’m building all of this here,
There’s a whole other piece of my life
living miles and oceans away.
He’s there in the Cayman Islands,
working at a hotel, living his days
in a place that probably feels like a different world
compared to my West Virginia roads and hills.
Three years between us,
distance stretching longer than I can even picture,
But somehow it doesn’t break us.
It’s emails that mean more than they should,
words typed out but felt deeper than spoken,
little pieces of each other sent back and forth
like we’re building a bridge out of sentences.
It’s Zoom calls where I just sit and watch him,
the quiet moments,
the almost-silence that still feels full,
Like just seeing him breathe is enough
to make the distance hurt a little less.
It’s not easy—
not even close.
But it’s real.
And real is something I’m learning to hold onto.
And then there’s my friends,
the ones right here,
the ones who laugh with me until nothing else matters,
who check on me without making it a big deal,
who stay even when life gets messy or quiet.
They’re the steady part,
the part that reminds me I don’t have to do this alone,
that even while I’m growing and changing,
I still have somewhere to land.
So yeah—
maybe it’s just a job to some people,
just eight dollars an hour,
just a small town beginning.
But to me,
It’s the first real step into my own life.
It’s learning how to earn,
how to save,
How to wait for the things that matter
instead of rushing into them.
It’s building something steady
out of something small.
Because I’m not just dreaming anymore—
I’m planning.
I’m not just wishing—
I’m working.
And even at fifteen,
I can feel it happening,
piece by piece—
a paycheck in my hand,
a four-wheeler on a dirt road,
a future Ford Mustang waiting somewhere ahead,
love that stretches across oceans but still holds strong,
friends that keep me grounded,
and a version of me
That’s growing into all of it.
Slowly.
Surely.
Becoming someone
who didn’t just hope for a life—
but built one.
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 10:43 PM UTC
Five More Minutes
I wish it wasn’t true,
I wish it wasn’t you,
and I keep thinking what’s the point in wishing
when it doesn’t change anything,
doesn’t rewind time,
doesn’t bring you back to me—
but I still do it anyway,
because some part of me refuses
to believe this is real.
I keep asking myself
if there was something I could’ve done,
something I missed,
something I should’ve said sooner,
like maybe there was a version of this
where I’m next to you right now
instead of holding onto pieces of you
that only exist in my memory.
I just needed five more minutes,
just one more day,
one more night of being *********
like nothing could touch us,
one more chance
to tell you I love you
without it being the last time.
You were like my older brother,
not by blood
but by everything that mattered,
the way you showed up,
the way you protected,
the way you made everything feel okay
even when it wasn’t.
I keep thinking about our code—
001—
how it didn’t need explaining,
how it just meant I need you,
and we came,
no hesitation,
fifteen minutes and we were there,
because that’s who we were
for each other.
I think about that night,
how fast everything changed,
how one second we were just alive
and normal
and the next
nothing made sense.
I remember holding your hand,
refusing to let go,
talking to you
like my voice could keep you here,
like if I tried hard enough
I could stop it.
I remember reaching back for you
when they pulled me away,
like distance could be undone
if I just tried a little harder—
but I couldn’t.
I think about the hospital,
the lights that didn’t care,
the waiting room that felt too heavy,
how my body gave out,
how I couldn’t breathe right,
couldn’t stop shaking.
Calling Dakota—
“hey, what’s up Addy”—
like everything was still normal,
and knowing I was about to break him
the same way I just broke.
The silence,
then him falling apart,
and me falling apart too,
in a different place
but the same moment.
The funeral—
waking up at twelve,
standing outside
because I couldn’t go in,
Dakota pulling me into a hug
that felt too much like you,
walking in anyway.
Seeing you like that—
still, quiet,
not you—
trying to speak,
trying to explain
how someone like you
fit into words.
Caring,
funny,
kind,
reckless,
protective.
Crying in front of everyone
even though I tried not to.
And that sound—
when they closed it—
that final sound
that never left me.
After everything,
your jacket,
your cologne—
I still have them.
I hold the jacket
like it might hold me together,
spray the cologne
just to feel close to you again,
and it works for a second
before it hurts even worse.
I think about the little things—
the things no one else would understand.
You chasing me down the road with a shoe
because I stole your vape,
threatening to beat my ***
while I was laughing so hard
I couldn’t run straight,
because it was in my pocket the whole time
and I was helping you look for it.
Cops getting called,
and us still laughing
like nothing could ever go wrong.
Sneaking out,
you pulling up by my dad’s place,
music already blasting,
driving with nowhere to go,
the warehouse,
the hammock on the beams,
speakers shaking everything,
dancing,
laughing,
being *********
like time didn’t exist.
Skating late at night,
streetlights buzzing,
you riding ahead,
turning back to make sure I was good.
The time I fell—
hard—
trying to act like I was fine,
but you knew I wasn’t.
You didn’t even hesitate.
You just picked me up,
carried me
like it was nothing,
took me somewhere safe,
cleaned me up,
wrapped my ankle,
stayed
until I was okay.
That’s who you were.
I stopped skating for a while
because it didn’t feel right without you,
because everything felt empty,
because every memory hit too hard.
But I’m trying again now,
because I know
you wouldn’t want me to stop living
just because you had to.
I wear your shoes now—
black and white Converse mid tops—
and every step feels like
I’m carrying you
in a way I can’t explain.
I miss your voice.
I miss your laugh.
I miss your hugs.
I miss the way you made everything
feel simple,
like nothing was as bad as it seemed.
What I’d do to see your face again,
anything—
just to laugh like we used to,
just to hear you say my name
one more time.
I wish I could be half the person you were.
I wish the universe had taken me first—
even though I know
that’s not how it works.
If you’re looking down right now,
just know I’m trying.
I’m living without you,
but nothing feels the same.
I pretend I’m okay
when someone says your name,
I smile when people are watching,
I laugh when I’m supposed to—
but inside
I’m still there,
in the moment
everything changed.
I wish it wasn’t true.
I wish it wasn’t you.
And I’d give anything—
anything at all—
for five more minutes. 🤍
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 4:03 PM UTC