1,095 days without you. without the smell of your perfume lingering on my car seats which reminds me of the garden i walked past with your mother, and the smell like those flowers left by your name carved in stone. without your laughter that i swore i heard in a cafe one day, and i swung my head backwards to catch you as quickly as i could, exactly how i did when you slammed on the breaks in your brand new car. without your birthday celebrations with the cake your mom always bought, which tastes exactly like the ice cream i tried a few months ago, and i sobbed the way i did when we sat on that curb and you held me so tight i couldn't breath. without seeing blue the same way i did when you bought me that necklace and told me it was my color. without hearing your voice carry me through like it did when we were in the boat, telling me to keep my head straight just like you telling me to keep my eyes on the road. without the beauty of you around me all the time. without you here.
