Hello, friend. It's been a while. Five months today, actually. In case you were wondering, I still have an Alan-sized hole in my chest, but things are getting better and I'm learning to adapt in a way I'd never thought possible on January 14, 2016.

With every picture of you I see on Tumblr or testimony to your absolute brilliance, I find myself mourning less and admiring you more. As I assume you're aware, others have joined you recently. (I feel like you and Prince have really hit it off. Don't really know why... you just seem like a Purple Rain fan to me.) The reason I mention this being that as I see others completely shaken by the sudden loss of their idol, I can sympathize completely and help them in a way that truly reminds me of your sentimentalities.

It's getting easier to watch all your films that I shamelessly purchased over the past year (We're still going for the full set by the way. Closet Land is just really hard to find). I even somehow managed to include Bob Roberts in an essay for my Topics in Film: American Politics class. (It related quite nicely, but we all know why I really chose it.)

I've gotten better, but I wish I could say that I'm healed completely. The thing is, I don't think I'll ever be able to hear your voice or look at a picture of you without feeling that overwhelming pain at your loss. Sometimes I get really angry. Angry that you're gone, angry that I even fancied you in the first place, but in truth, that's not fair to you. (Which is another reason why I become angry.) I try to remember you fondly, think about how happy your existence made me for almost a full year of my life. I wouldn't give that year away for anything. And even though you'd probably look at this and immediately dismiss it, saying you're not really worth all that suffering in that humble way you do which makes me want to hit you with a rake and kiss you all at the same time, I don't care. I'm writing to you anyway because I need closure. I need to be able to get on social media without having my heart ripped out of my chest or casually watching Hulu and being triggered by a trailer for one of your last films.

Missing you is debilitating in the worst of ways and I know without a shadow of a doubt that you wouldn't want anyone on this earth to meditate over you for as long as I have. Yes, you're just an actor, but I came to call you friend. You've touched my soul in a way that no one else ever has and that's why it's hard to let go. Hard to tell myself that there is a life after you. Hard to stop being angry for things I can't control.

But, I'm here to tell you that I'm trying my hardest. Maybe, just maybe, one day I'll be able to only casually say that you're my favorite actor without feeling absolute anguish in the pit of my stomach. This is the start of that, this article in itself is progress. I've only told two others of this specific struggle I have within myself, but that ends today.

Exactly 120 days ago I lost one of the most influential human beings in my life. His name was Alan Rickman and I never met him, but he was my friend. His films made me laugh, cry, and swoon. His charm surpassed any boy my age and I held myself back because of him.

And I don't regret it. I'll never regret it.

Because Mr. Rickman put a fire in my belly for writing. Because of Mr. Rickman I am here with you today. Because of Mr. Rickman I will continue to write because it is the "ancient need to be told stories. But the story needs a great Storyteller."

In the completely adorable Evanna Lynch's tribute to the actor, she wrote about a night where something Alan said changed her life. (Surprising, I know.) She'd been worried about becoming a successful actress at the time. (Sound familiar?) Alan told her his story about starting acting late in life and how it was never too late to make mistakes, but one specific quote struck me dumb when I read it. It obviously struck Evanna too for she remembered what he said verbatim. Her Facebook tribute went as follows, "'People think that they're watching this' he said waving his hand in front of his face, 'but really they're watching this' and he pounded his fist on his heart centre."

This simple statement should not have touched me as much as it did, but as I read it, I felt like he was talking to me for I was struggling with my worth as a writer at the time as well. He obviously meant it in the acting since, but the message is the same: your art comes from your heart. In fact, you can't spell heart without it.

That is what I choose to take from this whole situation. I may still mourn for you, Alan. You're just going to have to deal with it. But I do promise this: I won't dwell on your death any longer. I am tired of being sad. It's time to follow my heart and focus on my future, keeping in mind that my heart should be where my inspiration comes from. It's time to learn and grow more as a person. Because in reality, that's what you'd want me to do.

I thank you, Alan. For helping me find this talent deep inside me. I couldn't have done it without you.

And perhaps a few months too late, Goodbye, sweet Prince. (For real this time.)

Always,

Brooke

P.S. I'm sorry about the Snape reference. I just couldn't help myself. I'm garbage, I know.