How it feels to grieve over something that ended one and a half years ago.

August 7th. That would have been his fifteenth birthday. 

Honestly at this point, I don't know how to feel. I've been living day by day, fearing dates on the calendar.. August 7th, March 6th... when I hear his name a bolt of yellow lightning hits my chest and I can't breathe. I can't cry either. I don't cry. I'm past that point.

I'm at the point where I'm wondering how this whole thing started. Social studies class, 7th grade... months ago I revisited that classroom and the memories hit me like a speeding bus. When I looked over to the seat he used to sit in and saw a girl sitting there, I was overwhelmed with anger. How dare she sit where he had sat? He... someone I thought I loved....

...did I love him? Was I capable of love at age 12, age 13? The feelings were present, but when he died something inside me died. The world seemed virtually black and white to me, without his blue-gray aura and his yellow name, his bright yellow name. That bolt of lightning. 

And how the hell have I healed? Seeing the school guidance counselor after saying something about suicidal thoughts I had in 8th grade, telling her I overreacted and it was nothing to worry about? Then seeing the school psychiatrist and saying cryptically "I wasn't ready to tell her everything yet"? Have I repressed these feelings of pain only to be met by a deluge of hurt, of destruction, of unreturned love? 

God. And the worst part is, we were hardly friends. After that magical seventh grade year, I wrote him a note telling him I liked him or some shit and he didn't talk to me again. Some stupid, basic tragic love story. He never loved me. He died. March. 6th. 2016. 

And it still. 

Hurts.