I never imagined I would be in this position. The position where I’m sitting on my bed with my head in my hands trying to find some kind of motivation to go on. The position where you’re gone, where you were shot, just because people couldn’t accept you for who you are. For who we are. For what we were. Now I’m stuck here in a world where you’re no longer alive. In a world where I’ll never get to talk or laugh or cry with you ever again. A world where I’ll never again get to feel your touch or kiss or hug or the way your fingers intertwined with mine. It’s hard being in this world. But at least I can see you one last time.

   At your funeral.

   I wish I didn't have to think about that. I don’t want to remember that I have to see your lifeless body in your open casket in only a matter of hours. I want to go back to the beginning, before your death. How we met and fell in love despite knowing your father would never approve of us. I’m not ready to say goodbye to you, Philip, and I probably never will. But for now I'll pretend like you’re still here. Maybe that’ll keep me from destroying myself and the world around me.

   I want to relive our love story before I see you for the last time, Philip, so I’ll recall our story to the only audience who needs to hear it: you and me. But I don’t want to tell it alone. You’ll help me, right? Just humor me. I'll go first, I know how much you love the way I tell my stories.