Dear Shay,
I finished the portrait I've been working on. Those who were helping with color matching, shading, tints, and anything I need help on just found out why I painted you. Well as best as I could tell them. I'm not completely honest. I probably never will be honest with how I feel about you gone. I told them you'd died. They ask when and I said a month ago. They asked if you knew I'd be painting you and I said no. You died while I was working on the painting. In reality this painting was my last string for hope and faith. I wished for so long that when I finished it, you'd be home or at least in the hospital making progress. I had hoped your green and grey eyes would be staring at me and silently sending me messages only you could send. I had hoped you'd be there telling me how bad lavender looked on you and how much red would have complemented you skin tone. Now all I have is longing. I want you here. I worked so hard on this painting I barely paid attention to anything else. I slacked off in so many things I'm paying for it day and night. I spoke with you parent on the 22nd. The one month anniversary of your death. I hate the fact your dad is running crazy burying himself into his work. He confessed he tries not to think of you. He finds himself suddenly running to your room. Clutches your clothes, books, stuffed bear, and falls to your sheets. I find myself walking to your house. Standing infront of your room wanting to throw rocks like I used to. Your car hasn't been moved. I still think of you. The anniversary of you funeral was on thursday. I miss you. I can't believe your gone, I can't believe I lost you. I'm still in shock. When the phone rings I still answer thinking I'll hear your voice. I miss you.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to My Bestfriend
Non-FictionHere are a series of letters of my every day life with my best friend on the hospital bed fighting for her life. Here you get an insight on what goes on in my head and what happens due to her condition.
