November 23

Don't read this if you would not like to read something sad.


www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtAGQT…


Happy birthday, .

I wish I could will myself into believing you could read this, but you can't, and I know that. Nevertheless, this message is for you.

You would have been 16, huh? That seems so young now. Don't worry, you aren't missing anything in sophomore year of high school. Nothing of great importance has happened and all the talk is the usual, dull gossip. You would have been able to drive. What a crazy thing that would've been. Scary. I wouldn't have gone on that red motorcycle you wanted with you, even if you tried to force me. Of course you would state to the contrary.

That story we were writing, "Not All of Us Are Angels"? I haven't written a word more from it. You would've guessed as much, you knew me all too well. I love it, but I can't bring myself to write another word. You once said that it was like a journal of our lives in one way or another, if we looked into the details. Each sentence was a memory, each joke a piece of the time we had together. So, I think you'd understand why I don't wish to write any more of it, and as well as why we never were inclined to finish it. I can't write any more, as you aren't here to write it with me. I can't write that which doesn't exist. We never wanted to finish the thing that brought us so close together in the beginning. You know I couldn't write as your characters anyway. You always had the right thing to say, a clever phrase or metaphor, a play on words that meant something more. They were a part of you.

I've had problems remembering some things about you since the accident. Your face, your voice, some specific memories. Though, there are plenty of things that have stuck with me. I can never forget your beautiful blue eyes, how could I ever do that? You said you liked them. I can't forget your messy hair, either. You barely ever brushed it, and you could make it look good. Do you remember when I got you to sit down and I actually brushed it in my new room? Do you remember how, when my mother and I finished painting my room, we spread blankets to color the whole floor and slept there? Do you remember how the story began as a silly fan-fiction spawned by a joke about a panda? I do. I remember each of those. I remember when we all slept at Catherine's house and we watched a movie and played games. I remember watching Supernatural fanatically with you after school and trying to draw fan art. I remember you calling me by ridiculous nicknames just to bother me.

Your memory lives on.

I love you, don't you ever forget.

-C.G. "Chandy"

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