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i have a friend named Danny who’s always just so quiet. he‘s very dear to me but he doesn’t talk much, and mainly when I’m spending time with him it’s because his boyfriend wanted to hang out and he happened to be there too. Sometimes when I come over and he’s having a tough day he’ll go to another room, and I thought for a long time he was just a pretty sad, anxious dude. or Maybe he just didn’t like me that much, but I’ve seen him act this way with other people too. So he’s probably just introverted.
today, I was talking to the aforementioned boyfriend, and some old pictures of danny came up in conversation. We ended up looking at pics and videos of him from about a year and a half before we met and hes such a different person — a bubbly, ridiculous guy — and he smiled. It broke me to realize, I never ever see danny genuinely smile. Not when we’re doing board games, or watching movies together, or having a meal.
I’d really never met that Danny. the one E fell in love with, and who could always make his friends smile because he couldnt help but smile when he was with them. the week after he visited his mom, after her cancer went into remission, I met a version of him — I got a glimpse of a happier man who cracked jokes and teased and got excited — but it faded, and once again he pulled himself from one day to the next.
There’s not a word for that kind of sadness, the feeling of losing someone you never had before. I hope in time he’ll heal, and I’ll see him face to face like I see him in those old pictures. But for now he’s many states away, and in my mind, his color is blue.
2d ago
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Sometimes it just pops out of nowhere, sometimes it’s just a passing memory and sometimes out of the blue I feel the weight of what happened. I had a best friend, a person with which I connected in a way I never did with anyone. She moved out of the city and with that she stopped any communication with me. I miss her. I miss her so much. I feel like I must have fucked up big time for this to be happening. In our last call I told her I was worried we would lose contact with the distance and she told me it would never happen. I believed her. It’s a weird sadness; most of the time I can see clearly that more than try to text her I cannot do much and I’m angry or confused about the situation but it passes, I go by my day. But sometimes this wave of sadness arrives and I remember how she made me laugh, how she looked at me, the day we actually talked like friends for the first time and then it hits me that we might have spoken for the last time. how could that be? I still believe her. One day she’ll call me and my memories of today will fade and get replaced by others of us together.
I should have called her more, told her more times how I loved her, how she was beautiful, we should have gone to more concerts together, we should have said yes to that dude who wanted to interview us for a tiktok. We should have when there still was a we.
One day talking about relationships, I mentioned how incapable I am at letting go and how sometimes I start to resent the person I can’t let go for the things we do to each other. So maybe it’s all for the best, maybe I’m being spared, maybe it will save our memories from being tainted, maybe that‘s all the time meant for us. I don’t know but I wish I did.
Jan 18, 2025
Around early December, I looked out at the sunset, and I noticed that the sky was pink. Not just a hint of pink, like there normally is, but the sky was almost unnaturally pink. I've always been a "sunset fanatic," taking pictures of the sky at any and every chance I get, so I thought these pictures would be no different from the rest.
As I was editing these photos, I was reminded of a friend. He passed in late 2021, at just 15 years old. He meant the world to me, and his passing shook me to my core. Every time we talked, he would always share his love for the sky, more specifically, sunsets. Since he lived in AZ, he was always seeing colorful sunsets, and he shared them with me every time he saw one. One night in October, we were talking about the sky, and I had told him that I had never seen a pink sky like that here in IL, and that I wish I lived closer to him, so we could experience the beautiful sunsets together. He agreed, but we both knew that moving was unlikely, so he sent me a picture of the sunset, and he told me, "whenever you see a pink sky, think of me, okay?" He had never been super fond of the color pink, but he said that he loved seeing it in the sky.
About a month after this conversation, I found out that my friend took his own life. I was devastated. I refused to believe it. I would call him, hoping to relive one of our conversations again, knowing that he wouldn't pick up. I sent him pictures of the sky, knowing he'd never see them. I did everything in my power to pretend he was still here, knowing he wasn't coming back.
Fast forward 3 years, to this exact moment. I had been thinking about my friend earlier that week, and being reminded of him in super subtle ways. I wondered if there was going to be one of those "if you're here, give me a sign" type of moments. Lo and behold, I looked outside to see my first ever pink sunset. He must've known that I was thinking of him, and decided to show me that he was thinking about me too.
6d ago
It's been a week since my brother Jacob passed. He was the last person I expected to go—an extremely active cyclist, hiker, and traveler. We still don't know what exactly happened, but in a matter of only half an hour he went from making his breakfast to his heart stoping.
So many of his traits I admired so much felt like things I lacked; he was disciplined, reliable, and energetic. He traveled the world and made friends across the whole globe, it seems. He was always adept at math, a subject I always struggled with.
He was only 18 months my junior. I literally can't remember my life without Jacob in it. At some points in our childhood he felt like my shadow. Since we were homeschooled during the early years of my life we spent so much time together. I took that for granted, but now I'm so grateful for all the hours of fort building, hole digging, camping, biking, basketball, getting destroyed by him playing NBA Live and womping on him in Mortal Kombat.
I really regret simply assuming he knew how much I loved him. We were brothers. We fought, argued, and teased each-other. He was such an appendage to my day-to-day that I didn't ever stop to tell him how dear he was to me, how proud I was of all he'd done, how grateful I was for all he contributed around the house and with the family, and how jealous I was of his fearlessness with change and travel.
People ask how I'm holding up, and it's hard to answer because—all things considered— I am doing alright. The hardest times are when my brain and nervous system still haven't realized he's gone: hearing the creak of a door and expecting him to walk in after a bike ride—his cycling shoes clinking on the tile; learning some soccer news and wanting to text him about it; feeling eager to get his feedback on something I cooked.
But the most difficult thing has been encountering the pity and sorrow people have shown toward me, because that somehow reveals the scope of the loss and the depth to which folks cared about him and care about me. Knowing we share some impacts of this loss breaks my heart. I so deeply appreciate all the offers of help and reaching out, and yet I have nothing to offer. I have nothing for which to ask. My brain just short-circuits.
Perhaps the best thing you can do for me is to let your loved ones know how you feel. Find one person you have maybe taken for granted and share your love clearly so that they truly know how much you treasure them because they won't always be around.
May 6, 2024
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