An open letter to my missing friend.

It's been years since we talked, but I still think of you Theory.
I wonder where you are and what you are doing. I can't help but question if you are even alive any more. You have to be. I can't bare to believe that you are gone. That I am sitting here thinking of you as your body rots in the ground. Cold and alone. An empty shell of the man that I loved. And I did love you Theory. I know that I shouldn't have. That I barely even knew you. But none of that mattered to me. How could I not love someone with whom I could share worst parts of myself?
We didn't talk about movies or books or the weather. Our lives were made up only of the things that mattered most, and so too were the conversations we shared. We talked of life and love and death, hope and despair, family and friends, those we loved and ultimately lost. We shared the parts of our souls that are too raw and damaged for the rest of the world to see. I made you question everything. You loved me and hated me for that.
I cant bare to think that the most real thing I have ever known is gone. I can't bare to believe that you are gone.
But why don't we talk any more if you are still here?
Every logical part of my brain knows that you probably did it. That for you the pain is probably over now.
Even if that's true and you did manage to pull off one of your plans, you will live on as a shadow in the corners of my mind. I'm not ready to give up on you Theory. You will forever be a half seen figure standing at the edge of my world. I'll let you into the deepest parts of me, just like I always have. You will not be good for me. You never really were. But you will speak French to me in the darkness and somehow I'll find the will to keep on breathing, to keep on loving the memory of you.

I'll force myself to believe that you are happy now, and that's why we don't talk any more. I'll believe that you found someone to guide you out of the darkness the way that I never could. I'll believe that you fell madly in love and that you don't even think of me any more. That you no longer need the company of my sadness to help you feel your own.

I'll believe all this in the broken things where my heart should be, even though my head knows that you are already laying six feet beneath the stars.