July 1st was the last day I saw them.

I had invited them out to this thing called Radical Pride; I’d invited them to the one the year before and they had a blast.

They boop’d me with a popsicle before we left their place. As in, they had grabbed me a popsicle, and as I was getting in their car they kinda touched my side with it and went “Boop.”

I can’t fucking deal with the thought that they’re gone forever. It wouldn’t be as bad if someone would just tell me something besides “Don’t worry it gets better.”

Sometimes I get angry at them—at how they seem to just not fucking care, which isn’t really like them. I think of ruining their fucking life or punching them in the face and they don’t deserve that. Sometimes I want to say fucking mean shit to them—I’m afraid to share some of the things I think of saying—out of this desperate want to make them feel just a fraction of the pain I feel. When they told my friend I need to “move on” a few weeks ago I kept saying (not to them, thank fuck) “I fucking hate you,” “I hate you so fucking much.”

I don’t even want friends anymore. I’ve been hurt so much.

I miss them so much.

I wish I could show you a photo of them, or at least tell you their name—it's a really cool name, like I stop and think sometimes “Wow, their name is—“