It's funny how memories can be both a source of comfort and pain at the same time. I find myself constantly replaying all the fun times Max and I had together in my mind, but each memory is now tainted with sadness.
I remember the day he was born, how excited I was to finally have a little brother to play with. We used to spend hours exploring the woods near our house, pretending we were on grand adventures. Max always had such an imagination, coming up with elaborate stories that would make me laugh until my sides hurt.
But everything changed so suddenly. The car crash took away our parents, leaving us alone in this world. And then came that fateful day when I found him hanging in his room... his lifeless body swaying gently from side to side.
I still remember reading his suicide note for the first time. The words etched onto paper by his own hand, expressing his fear of being separated from me... It broke something inside of me that day - something fragile and irreparable.
I miss him more than words can express. His absence is like a gaping hole in my heart that refuses to heal no matter how much time passes. Sometimes it feels like he's still here with me, whispering jokes only we would understand or tugging at my sleeve when he wants attention.
But deep down, I know he's gone forever... taken away by a decision made out of desperation and fear. A decision that not only robbed him of his future but also ensured that I would never see him again.
So as night falls once again and loneliness creeps into my soul like an unwelcome guest, I hold onto these memories tightly - they are all I have left of Max now.