"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, and finally 2017. In August it’ll be six years since you’ve been gone. I have to admit, losing you wasn’t easy. Losing someone isn’t easy at all. I hated you for leaving and I often blamed you for leaving for two years. But there were times where I blamed myself. I often wondered if I had just sent that poster made out of tissue paper that says “get well soon” then maybe I wouldn’t have lost you. Or maybe if I had just sneaked in to the car and went to you to be there for you, then maybe you would’ve lived. In November, we’ll be 16, at least you could’ve been sixteen. Lucky you. I’m doing all the aging and growing and dealing with shit, and you’re in a vault in a columbarium just sitting there in a marble jar being dead. It hurts waking up in the morning not seeing you there in our mom’s arms or on the other side. It hurts knowing that we wouldn’t be taking turns on who would sleep with mom next every night. 72 months, 31285