He was my best fucking friend. I talked to him all day, everyday. I knew what he was doing, when he was doing it, who he was doing it with. Now he’s fucking gone, and I’m alone. I could talk to him about anything, now I feel awkward and stupid. I never needed make up or perfect hair with him. I could be me. No one has ever treated me that way. He always listened, even if he hated it. He told me the flat out truth when I needed it. He told me when I was being a bitch, and gave me countless reality checks. Now I’m stuck waiting for his letters saying how happy he is while I’m so miserable. I think a lot about it at night, if he hears the same crickets I do. Or, if he’s out running a twelve mile hike instead. I think about him all the time an always.