October 15th, 2016

It's nights like these where I wish I could be back in your arms.

Seven years is not enough time to heal. There's been an empty spot in my heart since the day you passed. It remains quiet and unfilled. I am broken. And it's all so hard to think about.

I have been through so much without you.

I went to prom. I wore a beautiful dress and got my hair, make-up, and nails done. I danced with a boy.

I’ve graduated high school.

I’ve been through four relationships, none of them ending in happily ever after. I was engaged, and then I wasn’t.

For a few years of my life, I was a lesbian, though I have since discovered that I am actually pan-sexual and gender-queer. I don’t know how you would feel about that.

I am in college, studying English. I always wonder what you would have wanted me to do. I wonder if you knew that English was my passion, ever since you introduced me to "Star Wars" in sixth grade.

I have amazing friends.

My hair is red. It was green, and black, and blonde, blue… You get the picture.

I plan to be a teacher. I want to teach overseas. I remember how badly you never wanted me to go so far as a friend’s house for a day, or how hard it was for you to watch that train pull out of the station as I headed to Washington D.C. for a week. I can't imagine what you would think about me going overseas. Dad was the same way when I got into college. I live seven hours away from him, and sometimes I think it’s just a little too much.

I turned twenty this year, or five if you want to get extremely technical. I remember when I used to have two birthday parties because you thought my birthday was special, that I was special.

Sometimes, I wish I could visit you.

Today, Dad said that I am passionate and proud like you. And I started to cry. I haven't stopped crying. I can't compare myself to you because you held onto your passion until the day you died, and I, well...I've seriously thought about quitting. I want to call it quits, to go out into the world and be the adult I have always had to be. I love to write, but you loved to cook more. I feel disgraceful being told that I am like you in that way. I am not.

But every day I see you in me. I can see your face when I look in the mirror, and I always think "I'm starting to look just like my mother...isn't that what every woman hates?" But I don't hate it. Sometimes, I just stare at myself because at least I can see you again.

I'm sitting here in this moment thinking about how great it would be to go back in time when I could run to you when I cried. Now I just sit in my dorm room alone and hope that I don't sob loud enough for my neighbor to hear it.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

And I love you.