today marks your twenty second birthday,
the day right before my own

last year
after I turned twenty one
I went back to my apartment and cried all night
because it was the first time I was ever a year older than you
because you will forever be time capsuled
six feet under ground
at twenty years young

the night you died
I missed the phone call from our mutual bestfriend
and in the morning I woke up in disbelief;
finally got a hold of your brother;
found out what really happened;
and that you were really gone

I sat in contemplative silence for a long time in your honor
or maybe it was in anger
I can't exactly remember...

All I know is
I hope you cursed yourself when you realized what you did
your body going limp
a final hushed exhale
escaping from your motionless lips
are moments I try not to recreate in my mind
but for the first few months
every time I closed my eyes  
all I could envision were
your emerald green ones
going dim

your mother;
fine china shattering on the floor -
tiny perfect pieces of herself, forever scattered in disarray
I promise you she is still stepping on your pieces
shards of who you once were scaring her daily  

the truth is
I know you never meant to cause damage
but breaking is what happens
when so much is left up for subjective interpretation
and brutal speculation

on the day of your funeral
when the pastor said your name
I thought about laughing out loud, because
you certainly would have;
you would have been the first to crack a joke
at the seriousness of it all
but somehow knowing that
couldn't pull me out of the lament
I was drowning in

as I said my final goodbyes I could hardly breathe
the oxygen, thick in its lack of substance,
was a density unlike any other

I looked down upon your face
no longer looking quite like the one
I remember you wearing
while you still walked among the living

a note from our high school years
found in a keepsake box under your bed
made its way from my cold damp hands into your dry stiff ones
I pushed it gently into the open space in between your fingers and palm  
and I touched your arm, as if somehow
this gesture could comfort you
and let you know I still loved you
just as much as I always have

walking away from your casket
I remembered the one time we got high before Sunday mass
I thought maybe this
was God playing a joke on us
I thought perhaps this was some type of
divine and perverted revenge

most days I miss you without trying
but honestly, there are also days
where I don't think about you at all
those are the times everything feels normal
and I can almost be convinced
that as soon as I am back in New York we will
be driving around town listening to Dave Matthews,
drinking beers around a bonfire,
and having full conversations through a single glance

except the instant my mind catches my heart
pretending that you are just a phone call away
I am forced to
silently surrender to the reality that;

tomorrow is December 9th
and there we be singing
and cake
and candles
and alcohol
and gifts
and life
for the girl
wearing a counterfeit smile

while today
all we there was
was a melancholy remembrance
of the existence
of a boy
who died too soon