I knew that inevitably
I’d have to go to a funeral one day.
Far into the future,
when I was old and greying.
Mature enough to grieve the loss.

I didn’t think my first funeral would be yours,
four months following
from your twentieth birthday.

I stood in front of everyone who’s ever meant something to you.
I dropped petals over your body.
I spoke words not nearly enough
to encapsulate the friendship we shared.
I felt the weight of the rooms grief upon my own.
I spoke to your family and I finally understood you.

Your body lying behind me,
dressed in white.
The bandaid on your forehead,
giving me a glimpse of where you cracked apart.

Now, I see your expressions in my little brother.
When he cut his hair,
hair the length of yours,
it felt like you left me again.

I hear your voice commentating on my every day.
I think, where are you right now?
Can you see me?

For I don’t know what I believe.
I don’t know where you are,
and I’ll drive myself mad trying to reach you,
trying to put us back in the past,
transport us back to fifteen year olds
who understood each other on a telepathic level.
We thought we had forever to bicker.

I will never find that in someone else.
You’re gone and you took a piece of me with you.

I remember dropping to the floor,
when I found out the news,
unable to breathe.
I called you nine times
before someone took my phone away.
You didn’t even have a voicemail.
How selfish of you not to give me hope.

When I hit twenty myself,
six months later…
It felt impossible
that you weren’t there.

I know you would have dressed up
for my ***** Dancing party,
And I wish more than anything
that I got to see you dance.