It's tempting when writing a letter, to begin it with, 'I hope you're well.' Can't say that in this one, so I'll just go with, I miss you.
There are people here who knew you much longer than I did, who probably knew you better, too. But we were talking a lot, around Christmas and into January. You told me about your life, about your family, about your illness. I told you about my life. And we talked about movies and music. We talked about hospitals. And we talked about death.
You weren't supposed to die. They sent you home from the hospital. You were getting better, and you were going to go on living. You were gonna play Pokemon and knit cool things and be you. I told you I'd be very cross with you if you died. But I could never be cross with you. Especially not now.
We had a lot in common, you and I. We had a similar taste in music. We talked about punk rock. You listened to my songs, too. And you were among the few here who understood what I'm going through, I think, though you were much more settled in your identity, and you always were, from what you told me. But still, you got it. You were a great comfort to me. I think I managed to be a comfort to you as well, about other things. You were afraid. I hope I managed to make you a little bit less afraid. I hope talking to me gave you something, if only a distraction.
In a way, I fell in love with you. Not in a romantic way, but I wish I could have been near you. I wish I'd talked to you more, too, these last couple of weeks. I didn't want to bother you, but in the end I don't think you would have been bothered. I felt very close to you. I don't know if you felt as close to me, but...
I loved you. So many people here did, and do. You told me you didn't have many friends, but that's not true. You had friends here. Friends who miss you. I miss you.
Everything but your comments and status updates is gone. Your pictures of all the cool shit you made. Your blog is empty. Wish I still had your picture, but I have it inside me, in my head, and in my heart. You'll never be gone from there. And I'll think of you, and the talks we had, and how kind and sweet you were. Less often as time goes by, probably, but you'll be here. Always.
"No one’s ever lost forever
When they die they go away
But they will visit you occasionally
Do not be afraid
No one’s ever lost forever
They are caught inside your heart
If you garden them and water them
They’ll make you what you are"
—Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra, Lost