Luke P.O.V
It had been 4 months since Michael killed himself. As selfish as it sounded, I couldn't bare to go to his funeral. I'm finally ready to go now. I drove to small cemetery where he had been laid. I searched through the names and I easily found his grave because it was surrounded by many flowers. His family paid a great deal of money to make sure his grave stayed beautiful. He deserved it.
I always kept Michaels note in my wallet. Our picture was still my screensaver. I still kept the t.v on 19. I still kept his collection of hair dye. His guitar still hung on my wall. His clothes were still in a box at my house. I still loved him.
I sighed and sat at his grave. I laid next to his grave. I wanted to cry, but I imagined he was here. If he saw me cry he'd laugh at me and say "man up hemmings. Punk rock people don't cry."
So instead of crying, I laid there and imagined if he was still here next to me. I didn't say anything for a whole hour. I just laid there and thought of my beautiful Michael who was six feet underground.
I finally sat up. I chuckled at my thoughts.
"Hey Mike, guess who's 19 now."
