All I could think about today was the feel of your shirt beneath my hand, you know, the stripped knit one, kinda brown, kinda green. You wore it a lot, I think until it had holes in it. It was a typical Brian shirt, one of the few typical "Non-Anime-Brian-Shirt".
I remembered who it felt under my hands when I used to hug you, or when you would pull me onto your back and carry me around (complete with my hysterical and joyful pleas to be let down). I remember how it felt when we sat on my couch and I'd lean into you. I remember the knitting, the material, how rough it was against my fingers. It smelled of you, and I carry that with me even now.
I miss you. I can't stand the thought of not feeling your hugs anymore, or you laughing at me as I try to kick you in the shin and end up hurting my toes rather than you. I can't cry, because you don't want me to, but I can't stop either, no matter how many times I tell myself that this is what you'd want to avoid. I want to be strong for you, but I don't know how I can be when I don't have you pushing me along the way like a good friend does.
I love you, dearest. Not time, not this... nothing can change that. Nothing will change it. I love you, for every time we fought, for everytime we hugged, for every bruise and every smile and every funny voice and bad joke that made us groan. I love you for support you gave all of us, for the stubborn way you defended your position, for the way you could create something vast and detailed and expansive out of nothing. I love you for the way you held us your equal, and for the way you gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. I love you for the way you called me stupid when I needed it, and for the way you made me think Bill Watterson was gone because I'm gulliable.
I love you because I know you'd be mad at me for crying now, but you'd wrap your arms around me anyway, and rock me back and forth. Even with that scratchy knit shirt.
