It's been over 5 months since you died. I found myself writing passed away but that's too gentle a phrase to explain the way the cancer consumed your mortal body. Your heart was last, an ironic testament to how you loved until the end, but the cancer found it's way there, too. A final act of betrayal, your body had hidden it from you. The scans were stable, so why were you getting worse? No one thought to look there, but why would they have? It rarely grew there, but once it did, it was game over.

And you didn't even tell me.

"My pain's getting bad, I'll be going into to the hospital tomorrow."

Then nothing. I texted everyday. Finally, I sent you a meme, knowing that if things were bad, my asking how you were would be too hard. And you responded in kind, a cheeky comment, just like normal.

Then your mom posted your obituary. Why the fuck didn't you tell me? So typical, for you to just disappear. You had done it before- the time we brokeup. You waltzed out of my life only to come back with a simple text, "Want to be friends again? Here's my number, call me."

I found out later that your cancer had just come back. You were scared, just as you had been scared, when I pushed you too feel too much, too quick. Me the anxious, you the avoidant. We weren't meant to be lovers, though I hold the memory of the nights we shared a bed, passionate as I taught you of lust.

Life hadn't been kind to either of us. Your warzone- the body. And mine? The mind. Your humor was your armor, addiction was mine. I learned that pushing you to open up served only to draw you further away. So I learned when to respond with humor and when to respond with concern. It was a delicate balance and if I am being honest, it took everything in me to laugh instead of cry. You knew that, opposite of you, I needed you to allow me to be vulnerable and you offered me what few others had- unconditional and unwavering loyalty and acceptance. You loved me, despite me.

Your mom told me a few months after that you died at home; it had been your one request. You chose to tell no one, only your immediate family there in your final moments. I wish I had pushed harder, rather than sending you a fucking meme. I know now that when you told me you were going to the hospital, you were saying goodbye. It was a bit of closure I can look back on. So rather than be angry, I thank you for that alone was your most earnest display of vulnerability.

I recall one night we were discussing death. I had told you that since my dad died the thought of death terified me. You said, "That's what makes life worth living. Make life your bitch."

So that's what I choose to do to honor your life- a life cut too short, marked by a suffering so cruel that perhaps death was a kindness, by the end.

So, if you're reading this, Shawn- I hope our souls find one another again, perhaps in a realm sweeter than this.

Life's a bitch, but I'll do what I can to make it mine.