bria

I still remember you. You were so beautiful. When you came over to my house still wearing your bowling shoes. Sheepish grin on your face I remember more from pictures than from memory. Your mother danced with you at your funeral. She swayed to the song, attempting to do the impossible task of saying goodbye to you. God, you were so young. You would be 30 now. Living in Chicago no doubt, still coming home to see your parents sometimes. I let a balloon fly at your memorial. All of us did. You showed us what loss was. You shattered our youth and opened us up to loss. We had no idea. No clue this was reality. I barely knew you compared to some. 11 years later a song will play and you will be in my mind, my heart. I wish you could have grown up. I wish you could have known the beauty and pain of adulthood. I know that somewhere in Illinois, there is a home, with your pictures all over it. They stopped living then. It has been about you since that moment. That night that you took a curve a little too fast. She will always think of you, as much as she can. It changed her too. She walked up to me a few years ago, wobbling, and told me she liked my hair. I broke down as it made me remember what we all wanted to forget. You are always with us. You are with me, your acquaintance, and with those that knew you inside and out. Please tell me I'll be able to hug you on the other side.