I want to start by saying how much I miss you. It has been a week exactly and I finally understand what they mean when they say that grief is like a hole. Time has not healed anything, instead I hear the splitting of seams and rumble of thunder. No number of white roses, or piles of meaningless condolences can ever fill the shape of your memory. Grief is more like an echo of death than a reaction. Pounding, the noise travels the earth and paralyzes me with the fear of walking. Each step is a flying train pulling me away from the world you live in. It is a swirling maelstrom that feeds on routine and spits out chaos. The worst pain is the dull ache that rings like a bell on the hour. We drew your initials on our bodies and on your door but what’s a monogram in place of living fire. You are more than a picture, more than a memory, you were like the moon, hanging in the sky, pulling on the tide. Everyone is afraid of remembering you. They read letters you wrote and show pictures but no one looks in your eyes. Look past the smoke screen and see a mountain. Every time I hear your name I collapse into a puddle. I’m not angry at you, I’m angry that you are a casualty of being human. How is it acceptable to release you before you got to start? I am afraid that I will be next or even worse that I will get much more time than you were afforded. You got less years than a day gets hours. When I remember goodbye I see blurry black heels on the fresh dirt. I can never wear those shoes again without thinking about kneeling before you as you returned to dust. How could we let you go? How could we lock you away in the heart of lava? I don’t want to leave you there. How can I bring you back? Please, tell me this is a fading nightmare. Please, tell me that you were ready to go. Please, tell me you weren’t in pain. I need one more minute. I need to see you smile. I need you. What am I supposed to do here on this island?