I keep thinking about the last time I saw you; you, in the backseat of my car, chugging two forties while I gave you cigarettes. We hung out in your room and talked about your wig collection- I was jealous, and I told you so.
You said we could share wigs one day.
I still think about that a lot, which seems silly. Sometimes the thought of wigs crosses my mind, and all I can think about is how bright your eyes were when you were talking about them. I was online that night, looking at other wigs I thought you'd like, but two days later, you were gone.
Life isn't fair, something you and I know very well, but sometimes...
This is a joke, and I never received the punch line. I keep waiting for it, staring into the abyss, the hole in my heart the shape of you, but all there is is silence. And silence used to be my friend, but now I can't sleep without music turned so loud that I cant hear my dreams, because I'm scared I'll see you in my nightmares.
I hope you're happy, you know? I hope you're doing okay. If there's life after death, I hope it welcomed you with open arms and that you never have to know the cruelty of this world ever again. You're gone too soon, and I'm not sure what to do with all of this grief I can't sit down; it's draped over me like some fucked up cloak, that was supposed to keep me warm, and instead, I'm shivering and the cloak is soaked through and I can feel it in my bones.
I miss you, so much, Thomas.
