It's been almost 6 months since we found you collapsed in your room.
It's been almost 6 months since I sat in the hospital room at 1 in the morning and sobbed when the doctor said the only thing they could do is make you comfortable while you bled internally to death.
It's been almost 6 months since the doctors declared you dead and we had to call your parents a whole other country today.
It's been 6 months since I attended your funeral. Met your parents, received some of your things, mourned your death.
It's been 6 months since I got a phone call from you only hours before. Since I heard you laugh, since I heard you sing me silly songs, since I heard you tell me to be happy for every day because it could be my last. We all thought your cancer had gone into remission. You, most especially. I miss your laugh. I miss your voice.
I miss you.