Oh, Buddy, I miss you.

Dear B,

I went to another funeral this weekend—
another soul overwhelmed by this world,
another friend who couldn’t carry it anymore.

And I thought of you.

Not just your laugh that echoed down the halls
but how you looked at people—
as if they were worth hearing,
worth holding,
worth knowing.

You had that gift.
Still do, somewhere, I hope.

I remember your kindness,
how you lifted people up
with just the right words—
never loud, never showy—
but like you knew something sacred
about each of us
that we didn’t know ourselves.

But B—
the world you lived in
was so unkind to you.

And the people who should’ve sheltered you,
who should’ve wrapped their arms around
your softness,
your sparkle,
your truth—
they didn’t just turn away.
They cheered.

They smiled at your absence
like it was a victory.
Their joy was loud,
and they didn’t care who saw.

The pastor refused to speak.
Your grandmother said you were in hell.
But B—
if there’s any justice in this universe,
then they were wrong
about everything.

Because I know where you are.

You’re somewhere beyond the noise—
at peace,
bathed in light that doesn’t ask you to change,
surrounded by the kind of laughter
that understands you.

And I’m so sorry.
So sorry that the world failed you.
So sorry that we didn’t do more
to pull you back from the edge.
So sorry that love came to you
like a whisper
instead of a shout.

But you were never unworthy.
Not for one second.

I miss you.
I remember you.
I carry your name
when I speak up for others like you,
when I build safe places
where no one has to feel
like disappearing
is the only way to be seen.

You mattered.
You matter.

And I hope, wherever you are,
you finally believe that too.

Love always,
Your old college roommate.