Dear S,
Hi. I don't know how to start these things, but I want you to know that you're missed.
I'm sorry for being entitled and writing all this for the world to see, though I know you would just reassure me that I'm not being that. Look, I know I wasn't your closest friend. I looked up to you a lot, though. I always felt privileged to be a friend to you, and that honour remains. It sounds so dumb, but you really were the kindest. It's so cliché and something everyone seems to say for everyone, but I always thought that when you were alive. That's what I admired so much. You constantly reminded me to be kinder by example.
You'd probably be surprised to know how much I think about you. Most of my adult life, I haven't been able to cry. I always secretly thought there was something wrong with me, but these past few years I've regained some of that. Mostly. I won't lie I recently bawled my eyes out thinking about you. (Just a few years late) I think about your life and how unfair it all was. Perhaps it's presumptuous of me to assume how you felt, but you did make that choice, so obviously it wasn't all sunshine. You deserved better. You deserved so much more. It hurts me to think of how comically fucked up it all is.
Anyways, I'm sorry I couldn't cry for you when I heard the news, or at the funeral, or when I flew over and stood at your grave. It was surreal knowing you were so close yet so far. I think part of me feels guilty that you were buried in the same place you always seemed to want to get away from. For what little it's worth, the area is stunning. The way the grass swayed in the wind on the hills. Those hills looked like damn mountains with a flat surface as far as the eye could see... but you were probably pretty sick of that scenery. I remember when I heard the news, I'd sit out in a snow bank alone, holding the trophy you gave me, just wishing I could feel emotional over it.
I still remember when we were all hanging out and you silently slipped away from the group. I remember being worried for you and going out to investigate. I remember your sobbing and the woes you told me about. I remember trying to be the best version of me for you in that moment. I know you considered me strong, but you always made me proud of how strong you were too. You dealt with so much. I selfishly wish I could have shouldered that weight for you sometimes.
I'm rambling, but you are so missed. It is genuinely like a hole exists within me. That absence lingers with all of us. When you made me draw a picture of that flower, I felt endeared. Knowing you thought of me highly enough to be one of the few friends you had do that. It puts me in an interesting position, being considered part of such an elite inner circle. Got everyone going, "He was one of the close eight! One of the eight flowers!"
I feel like a fraud being considered part of that group, though; I wish I talked to you more and became a better friend to you. While I'm flattered by how highly you thought of me, my own selfish ways of not wanting to interact outside of a group setting got in my way. I know you know this, but in the event I'm wrong, it was because I was worried people would get the wrong idea. As a guy, I always felt awkward thinking people would assume I had romantic interests where I didn't. Enough men in the world are creeps and act as friends but secretly have ulterior motives. I didn't want to appear as one of them; in retrospect, I should have been more confident in my truth and not cared about perceptions.
I'm sure you're well aware, but you became famous. You can thank your mom for that, I guess. I met her, to be honest, along with your sister and brother. Your mom gave me some of the light blue pebbles that made you so famous. I carry them around; I won't lie. I guess it's sentimental. I put one by a red panda exhibit at a zoo. I know those were your favourite, so I hope you got a view of them now.
Anyways, again, you're so missed, even to a guy like me, who wasn't as close as I should have been while you lived. Trust me, those who were closer are still grieving, but I'm still standing strong and trying to be there for them and care for them like you'd expect me to.
You were loved. We miss you.
- A certain War Criminal