Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to share your burden for a time. The only thing worse than watching your tender heart crushed under the weight of so much would have been to think you’d carried it all alone. I’m so sorry it wasn’t enough.
These last few days, I’ve sat and reread years of conversations with you over text and instant messages. Yes, even the one from 5am on a Saturday. You shared your heart with me and trusted me with struggles I can’t begin to comprehend. I’ve always been far more comfortable in my skin than you ever were in yours. But I loved you just the same.
We shared a love of shooting stuff, both with guns and cameras. We shared random Dr. Who references and discussed deep philosophical concepts. I knew of your heartaches and your moments of joy. You spent so much time caring about everyone else, that I think you forgot to care about yourself.
I lied to you. I said, “Love you too. I think you’re going to be just fine.”
I didn’t think you’d be fine. I hoped beyond hope that you would, but I was so very afraid that you wouldn’t be. Sometimes, I hate being right. I wish you could have seen yourself through my eyes. Maybe, in some moments, you did. Compassionate and funny, smart and creative. And most of all, my friend. I don’t waste my time with worthless people.
Thank you for being a part of my story and allowing me to be a part of yours. Thank you for reaching out to me when you were hurting and giving me the chance to speak love into your life. I had hoped to share more chapters in our stories, but it wasn’t meant to be. Even knowing how the story ends, I wouldn’t trade our time together to be spared the pain of your loss.
Goodbye, my friend.