A very old friend of mine died this week. I found out too late. I went to her funeral yesterday morning and my heart broke into pieces because this is the last time I will see her: in a coffin. I touched her cold, stiff hand and it felt like a prosthesis. Her face didn't look real either. A grotesque mannequin, swollen and distorted and unrecognizable after years of drug abuse. "Abuse" is such a funny word, isn't it? She did it to herself and it makes me angry.

And I miss her, so much. And I wish that I could talk to her. And I wish it wasn't too late. I wish that we had kept in touch over the past 7 years, and not let it come to this. I should not be burying friends at 27.

Now, I close my eyes and I see her dead face. The image follows me throughout my day: when I wake; in the shower; while making breakfast; at work; driving in my car; and in my dreams. I can't shake it. She is with me no matter what I do. And I wish my last memory of her wasn't like this, but it is.

And I feel guilty for so many things, but mostly I feel guilty because I wish I could stop thinking about it but I can't. So, I have a dead girl following me around. And I so wish she could be real just for one more minute.