It's December, whoever fucking knows the date. He doesn't know. He will never know, now. You bite your lip, staring out from your car. If only you could go over there and say good bye to him, too.
Don't fucking cry.
Don't fucking cry.
Gripping the steering wheel turns your knuckles white, but you don't notice this little detail. Your eyes have caught on a man leading a little girl out. It's his dad. Or his son, now. Who is that? She looks like him. You almost smile.
Don't fucking cry.
How old is she? Probably as old as your bro is. You touch your glasses, almost hurtling them off your face. He had never known in this lifetime. You had found him, but it was no use. How could you explain it? How could you enter some man's life and tell him you're best friends. Fuck, he'd probably think you're some stupid kid. But that didn't stop you from following him. Making sure he was okay.
Don't fucking cry.
This hurts even more than when you found Bro dead. Bro's here now, he's her e and he's safe and he's young, and he'll live for a long time. But John…He's gone. He's fucking gone. No more of those stupid smiles, or that fucking laugh, or anything that was him. And he didn't even fucking remember you. He wouldn't understand how much this hurts.
Don't…
Fucking John. He doesn't know the pain of losing a friend in this lifetime. Or maybe he does, because he had his Dad, which means he must have been with a woman. That hurts in a weird, unironic way. Sure, even in the first session, you knew better than to tell him your feelings. But fucking... You look toward Dad and his little girl. The man is staring back.
…fucking….
Shit. Does he know who you are? He ushers his daughter into the car, not taking his eyes off you. And you can't seem to look away. Does he…? Does he remember? It wouldn't be too bad, finding someone who holds the same memories. No. Dad nods in your direction before getting in the car. You wait until they drive away, and then you get out.
…cry.
You walk quickly into the funeral home. This is where they had the viewing. This is where your best friend is. In that coffin. Sleeping, finally, in fucking peace. There he is. His fucking glasses clean as a shiny whistle, his tie nice and crisp. You feel your knees go weak.
Fuck.
And then the tears come. You don't want to say goodbye to your best friend.