It's December 2nd, the fourth birthday since you died. Sometimes I think about how when I am dead the entirety of our friendship will be dead, every experience we shared, every conversation, everything. We were the only witnesses. How we raced elevators, drank beer, tormented the people in the video store with our increasingly obscure requests; how hard we laughed. How much of my time was spent on thinking towards amusing you, just to hear your devil laugh, and even now whenever I find something funny half the time my mind races towards you and then stumbles around on itself, mouth gaping with the loss, fresh wound. I have other friends who have cut themselves off from me and my memories, people who want to pretend like we were never friends because it would mean living up to something they'd promised me, or actually I don't know what, I don't even get the Christmas cards. This time of year I feel all these absences. As good as dead, except you really are and I will never get over it. I miss you so much, I loved you so hard.