Hey Bill.

It's getting harder and harder to talk to you. Even though I know I need this right now, there's only so much I can say to a person who never talks back. I miss you. Like Hell.

I miss you like hell.

It even surprises me that I hadn't told you yet. When I don't think about it too much, it's fine, you see. But I need you even a thousand times more now that you're gone. This is getting the best of me! I want to hold you and I can't; this drives me insane. I want to see you in front of me, whining about how there's never enough cereal to keep you happy, but I can't; this drives me insane. I want you, Bill; this drives me insane also.

I want you.

I want you.

I want you.

You have to be here. For my fucking sake. I am going insane here. I wish you could see. You should definitely see me now. I know you'd come running right back to me, even it'd cost you forever. People die and they go to a place where it's all better for them, but I'm not really sure if I want you to be able to be happy without me. I'm not and I'm fully assured I never will be again.

This is a letter dedicated to how terribly much I miss you and how badly it's making me go crazy. We used to lay on the ground and scream if we didn't get our way, or mum wouldn't get us an ice cream. Guess I'm too old for that now. Besides, no matter how much I'd scream and how long I'd be lying on the ground, even mum couldn't fix this one. Even she, the woman who we knew as the solver of anything, had no sayings in this. That's terrifying, I tell you.

I think, with talking to you like this, using complete randomness – it makes you seem not so far away. You're just on a world journey and God knows when you'll come back, but you haven't disappeared for all eternity. You're still just as far away, and you might as well be on the other side of the city, or standing right behind me – but I suppose it's not really a matter of distance, it's only you being away. Even a meter is too far if it separates us. I know that.

But it's so much easier for me when I know you're closer to me. You're still coming back, I won't ever know when, but you're coming back...

What the fuck, Bill. You just died and even now you're still messing me around. Is this a joke? Is this a fucking joke? What am I, in some sort of coma or something? Is it me in a clear white hospital bed with you sobbing beside me? Hoping I won't die. Yeah right Tom, you keep telling yourself that. Whatever the future may bring, Bill, you're always going to have died before me. And I didn't like saying that, saying you just died and you're still messing me around. This is only me fucking with my own emotions. I guess it's getting easier to blame you for my doings because you're not here anymore to bitch back at me, like I deserve.

Well look at that, you just got me smiling there for a bit. I hope you saw that little brother. Sometimes tears go rather well with half a smile.

After eight weeks I still feel the exact same. I rarely sleep, having to fight tears more than I have to rest. Remember that time when you were so sad, because you thought we were finally breaking through with the band, but instead we got led to nowhere? I remember, I hated seeing you that sad. I tried to tell you it was to be a matter of patience, but you were never a very patient guy. Anyway, it's that time that you told me you were going to cry whenever you wanted to, and that we should from then on, not ever try to fight our tears again. Because tears weren't just there for no reason, right Bill? So if it helped emptying you up inside whenever a sad feeling was buried deep in there, we should cry. Cry like a big fucking cry-baby.

Well I can promise you, if you're seeing me right now, this is the biggest cry-baby you'll ever see.

So, yeah. What it all comes down to eventually... I miss you. Do you miss me?


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