Those places where the world seems to end - my dad's front porch, the beach, the mountains - you're there. 

Those songs, those memories, that urge to throw my arms up and scream "I'm the pole, GO!" - you're there.

These yellowing pictures, my fading memory of your laugh, and my Sync in my truck mistaking your name for something else I've said because I have refused for so long to delete you - you're there, but you're not there.

No matter if my Sync is willing to call "Bebe", you won't answer. It's not your number anymore.

Damn it! Why? I should be done with this. It should be blanketed away, patched over in my heart. It shouldn't still feel this fresh, this new...

But I still remember seeing you that last time. We were in my kitchen on July 3rd of 2010 - I was 12 weeks pregnant and addicted to pickles. I warmed you up a hamburger because you were late. While it was microwaving, I was sucking the juice out of pickles and throwing them in the sink because swallowing them made me sick. You laughed your laugh at me. Then you begged me to come out with you on July 4th and I told you no, because I had to work a 12 hour shift. I should've said yes... Just to see you again alive. Just to hear your wonderful laugh. Just to see how you brightened up any group of people. Your soul was so beautiful... and on July 7th, that was it. You were gone. Your book end closed that day and you left your readers angry. Too young and too vibrant to just be - gone.

Life is and will never be the same without you living on this Earth. I don't think I'll ever be able to say goodbye to you, even though I've buried you. I've brought flowers to your grave. I've thought about you every single day since you've been gone.  

Maybe my "Bebe" book will finally close when I see your name in stone. I'm going in 21 days. 21 short days and I'll see your headstone for the first time. Your 25th birthday is 13 days away. Damn it. Why?