For Aidan

Aidan,
I can’t remember a world without you in it.
Since I was a baby, you were there;
three years older,
three steps ahead,
always looking back to make sure I was keeping up.

You weren’t just my best friend.
You were my safe place.
The person who made growing up feel less scary.
And I thought you’d be here
for all the big moments;
the ones we used to dream about.

It’s been three years without you.
Three years of carrying you in my heart
instead of hearing your voice.
Three years of wishing you had stayed,
of wondering if I could’ve made you see
just how much light you brought into my life.

This year, I turn eighteen.
Older than you ever got to be.
And that thought
cuts deeper than I can explain.
Because I’m about to walk into a year
you never reached.
I’m living a future
you were supposed to have too.

And it’s not fair.
It will never be fair.

But you’re still here in pieces;
in the songs we screamed in the car,
in the smell of summer air that takes me straight back to you,
in the way I still laugh the way we used to.
Sometimes I swear I can feel you beside me,
and for a second;
it almost feels the same.

When my birthday comes,
and the candles are glowing,
I’ll make my wish.
And I’ll blow them out twice.
Once for me and, 
for the life I’m still lucky enough to live.
And once for you and,
for every single year
you filled with joy and love, 
and for all the ones you should still be here for.