One hundred days since I found out. One hundred days since your mom found you. One hundred days since the 'In Loving Memory' and 'Fly High' posts. One hundred days since you decided life wasn't worth living.
Was it really not? You always seemed like you loved life. Your eyes looked so happy. You had the biggest smile out of all of us.
I keep wondering how someone is so full of life and happiness and inside dying. They're decaying. Well, no. I guess I don't. I experience it myself daily.
I don't know how to escape that.
You know, I talked to her again. I can't decide whether you'd be happy about that or not. She told me you'd be proud of me. Are you? I feel like you give me the same reaction I give squirrels when they need to get out of the road before they're run over. I've done some pretty dumb stuff.
I really regret not texting more. I wish I had talked to you more. I feel like I could've changed your mind.
I wish you were here. Who knows the next time I'm gonna see a guy in a pickle costume jumping on a trampoline.
How has it been one hundred days when I found out two days ago?
I need more time.
I don't have more time.
Clocks don't stop just because I want them to.
