Don’t have a fucking title barley can get the thoughts out to make sense 🤷‍♀

Tomorrow you get laid to rest.

And somehow I’m supposed to understand what that means.

I don’t know how to say goodbye to my best friend.
To the one person who never judged me.
The one person who somehow understood the darkness in me, the darkness I never fucking admitted to anyone.

You saw pieces of me I couldn’t say out loud, and you never made me feel broken for having them.

Tomorrow everyone will say goodbye to you.
I don’t know how.

Tonight I’ll drink the alcohol you recommended, because somehow even that feels like something I can still share with you.l

God I hope tomorrow is busy
Because if I stop
if there is one quiet, unscheduled minute where nobody needs me—

my mind will find you.

And I’m terrified that when it does, I’ll break.

I keep wanting to tell you one more thing.

I love you.

I should have said it when you were here.

I hope somehow you knew anyway.

I hope you knew how much you mattered.
How much you were loved.
How much of my life has your fingerprints all over it.

I don’t know how to live in a world where I can’t talk to you anymore.

I only know that tomorrow they’ll lay your body to rest.

But they cannot bury my memories of you.

They cannot bury the conversations.
The laughter.
The darkness you understood.
The pieces of me you held without judgment.

So goodbye, Jermey.

Not because I’m ready.

Not because I accept this.

Because I fucking have to say it.

I love you.

And I’m going to miss you for the rest of my life.

Tomorrow isn’t just a funeral. It’s the day the reality I’ve been trying to survive becomes painfully, permanently real.