"Bradley died."
Died.
Dead.
No breath in your lungs,
no beating of your heart.
No electricity in your body.
Dead.

I wanted to cry,
the tears wouldn't come.
I wanted to scream.
My voice was to weak.
Cold.
You were always cold.
Are you cold now, Brad?

I remember the last time I saw you,
You were weary,
so weary.
More weary than any 25 year old,
ever had the right to be.
You didn't smile,
but once.

"Oh my god.
You've grown."
Like it never occurred to you,
that all the times,
you were gone,
and I was waiting,
I was growing.
You smiled then sadly at me.

I wish I could say,
Your smile spoke volumes.
It said everything.
wishing things had never changed,
Wishing I was five,
and you were seventeen again.
You could revoke the drugs you'd taken.
But it didn't.
It looked just as withered as your body,
as blank as the look in your eyes.

I guess the reason the tears wouldn't come that day,
is because in the end,
the Bradley of my past,
the one who helped me cut my hair when Mom wasn't looking,
the one who made foam puppets,
was long dead in my mind.
You were dead to me,
when you left for that last time.

The hopeless longing you'd come back,
went away.
Unfortunately,
we'll never get a chance to fix this.

...I miss you,
I'd never admit it Brad.
It's odd really.
I never called you that when you were alive.
Only in death, almost like I view you as a different person.
Maybe I do.
God, I miss you.

By the way, that picture,
the one you gave our grandparents,
it's on my dresser.
You were so cute.

Love,
Brit