It feels awful to have someone you've known for a little less than half of your life die. It really is. It's like you've stopped moving and the whole world goes on at a sickeningly sluggish pace. The world has lost it's color and you're a greying bystander. Numbness takes ahold of you. Food feels thick in your mouth and does not fill. Pleasure seems like a luxury and far, far away.  I really didn't know that until now.  It's horrible isn't it? Having someone important die? I wouldn't like it either if someone came up to me and said, "I know how you feel." No, you don't. There will never be two similar situations. Maybe once in a blue moon. Maybe.  No. Not the same people. Not the same situation. It's good to be sympathetic, or feel empathy for the person, but don't come horning in. 

It was really good to have known you. I remember I was in the third grade when I first met you. You were really nice. You let Chesca and me play neopets on the computer even though you got home first. You told me funny anecdotes. You made me laugh on more than one occasion. You were smart, you could figure stuff out. You knew a lot of things that had no relevance but were still pretty damn interesting. You gave the best movie recommendations. You told us which horror movies to watch and which ones were crap. You knew how to cook. You were talented at art. You were always nice to me. You've always been a friend. 

What's going to happen? The dinners? The beach? The trips? Who's going to sit up front with your dad? Who's going to make Chesca be nicer to Sofie? Who's going to tell us to watch scary movies? Who's going to help with Stripes? Who's going to make jokes about how you might not've been 18 but damn did your legs show it.

Maybe you did leave. Maybe you left sooner than you had to or planned to. Had I known that good-bye we said to each other last week was the last, I would've given you a hug...Something.  

It's hard on Chesca. Your family. That's the worst thing. Seeing your family (her) in pain. The relatives. The friends. The classmates.  Crying.

I saw your body in the casket. You inside, in all your finery. 

You looked great. Your art. Your bag. Your ID. The pictures. The shoes.

It still hasn't hit me that you died, it  really hasn't. The whole night I was waiting for you to come and tap me on the shoulder, talk to me about food, about ANTM, about your art. "APRIL FOOLS!"  What was I expecting? You to flounce down the aisle, and then we'd all laugh about it.

During the mass I felt your presence somewhere other than inside that box. It probably wasn't. Just me wanting to... Mikey, you left abruptly. I know if you had your way, you'd have it differently. Your business was done then? 

Of course, dying on impact is better than you having been in pain. 

I'll take care of your sister. I promise. 

It's not right that you're gone. There's no justice to be paid. 

Just you. Your casket. Your mourners. 

I don't think it's me coming to terms with your death, it's me not wanting to adjust to the reality of your death. Your death. Your death. Your death.  

Mikey...Death. Death...Mikey. 

No. It just doesn't click. 

Miguel Andres Gorres De Larrazabal, I'm going to miss you. Nothing's ever going to be the same.  

November 16, 1989 - December 2, 2007