"Court, you can't die with him. You have to let go."

But what if I need to?
I can't go to that coffee shop without losing my ability to breathe, as if I was hanging next to you.
I can't  listen to "Chasing Cars" with thinking about lying next to you and forgetting the world and myself.
I see your cousin at school and I see so much of you in him.
I can't go to the movies without wishing our fingers were intertwined.
I see flowers on the side of the road and all I can remember is your parents in all black kneeling at an alter in prayer.
Snow globes, hot chocolate, super hero movies and all the things that reflect us pull me through our timeline and remind me that I can't bear to look at rocks without seeing your name in that stone.
I can't drink coffee without tasting your vanilla kisses.
I can't look at ropes or strings or laces or ribbons without seeing your body hanging from your ceiling.
You used to leave me with smiles and stupid jokes but on October 13th, all you left me with was our history. And now its slowly carving my name into a rock and that's all I've ever known about letting go.