Today marks 658 days without you. 658 days of desolation with a barbed wire wrapped around my fence. 658 days of an endless loop of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, but never acceptance. 658 days of constant horrifying flashbacks that never leave. 658 days searching for an answer. 658 days of struggling to eat and sleep. 658 days of feeling like a deer in white headlights. 658 days of longing for your presence again, looking for a replacement at every turn only to learn you were irreplaceable. I like to think you follow me like a shadow, to imagine you're still here, to pretend you're still a part of me and my life. I called you every night like we used to, you never picked up, but I used to pretend like you did and I would talk to the dial tone for hours. You’ll be young forever but I’ll still celebrate your birthday even if it isn’t with you because how am I supposed to say goodbye without an end?

When I finally went back, the wood floors creaked as I entered your room, frozen in time, unchanged, and collecting dust. Every single memory of you suddenly flashed through my head, and they still do. I closed my eyes, and I could see your smile, and I can still see you. I took a deep breath, and I could feel the pressure pounding inside me, and I can still feel it. I took a deep breath because I thought it would be easier than dealing with the pain, but I’ve been holding it ever since. I hold onto the memories of you with a grasp stronger than I ever had. Physically a grasp that captures my mind daily. I see you in everything because you were like a part of me and the moment that I lost you a part of myself died. But yet people say that I have survived your death. What they don't understand is that I had to learn to survive each day because each day you were still gone.