It’s been three months. The longing to see him is mixed with his memory, clashing with the awful truth death brings that I can’t understand right now. My head is racing, my heart beats faster now that I smoke more than ever. I just miss him because the longest we haven’t talked is a week and now I’m supposed to accept this silence will go on forever. I somehow refuse even though I know I’m just sabotaging myself. I go back and forth, I remove our photos from my phone only to wear his shirt the next day. Sometimes I find my nose stuck in his sweater. It still smells like him, who he was, my friend forever.
— Grieving Young.