I don't really want to write a poem about you.
I don't want to try to fit you into a group of words, like you were just a quick beautiful nothing that fluttered in my sight.
I don't want to think about how you only exist in my memories now, and that I feel terrible to say and feel that these past three years have passed me by so quickly.
I hate to say my most vivid memory of you is the way your lifeless body lay in your casket,
Your braces still on your teeth.
And how I had to leave my biology class because I couldn't stop crying,
I didn't understand.

You'll always be seventeen,
But I keep growing older.
I keep looking at the same pictures of you,
Nothing new.
I think that makes it feel even more real: when that's the only place you're tangible,
If only in the tiniest bit.