'Time heals all wounds.'

The greatest lie of all time. Some wounds never heal. They become permanent scars that ache just as much as the original wound did, no matter how much time passes. It's been 15 years and it hurts more than ever. It doesn't constantly hurt like it used to, there are moments where I can almost forget my bitter thoughts and enjoy life to the fullest. But then when I least expect it, it hits me. A memory, a tiny glimpse. And it all washes over me again, I feel like I've lost him all over again. Like I've lost him for the first time and for the thousandth time and all the times there in between, all at once. The thought of him not being able to see me and how far I've come. The thought of me never being able to see his encouraging smile beaming at me, ever again. Except those that are frozen in photos, and the ones that haunt me in my dreams at night. I'm thankful for those, but yet I hate them. I want to keep his memory alive, I want to remember, I want to hold on, but I just don't want to hurt anymore. It's too much. It hurts too much.

Maybe they should change it to 'Time distracts all wounds', although that doesn't sound as catchy and comforting. I found that no matter how resolute one is at staying sad and shut off, life has a way of sneaking up on you and taking up most of your time. And before you know it, it plants a smile on your face. And you feel like you are cheating. Like you are betraying his memory by actually allowing the tiniest feeling of happiness inside of your body. That's the worst feeling of all. Especially since I know he would want me to be happy, he wouldn't want me dwelling on the bad stuff, he would want me to continue on with my life energetically. It was him that had the eternally burning life force. I'm just tired. I'm tired of feeling. I'm tired of living without him. I'm tired of pretending that everything is going to be okay. Yet I feel, yet I live on without him, yet everything is probably going to be okay.

But I don't want to face it, I don't want to face the fact that the world runs just as smooth without him. Not every little detail of everyone's life is affected by his death. At first I could see signs all around me. His sad family, his sad friends, his empty room, his empty desk at school. A month later there was someone sitting in his seat. Half a year later his friends were running around happily. A year later his parents had found another use for his room. Two years and all traces of him had been erased from our daily lives. Life had left him behind and even though I wanted to stay behind with him, life pushed me forwards. I had no say in the matter. I was still alive so I was forced to live on.

When he died, I knew things would never be the same again. That I would never be the same again. I could feel it in the air and all the way down to the inside of my bones. Like I would be carrying this secret with me for the rest of my life, a secret that set me apart from others, a secret only I could understand. I might look normal on the outside and I might even act normal, but no one could see that I lived in a different world from them. A world shared only by me and him. A world that only existed inside me, inside my forever broken heart.

You don't get over it, you just learn to live with it.