How to make me cry

Every 12 year old in the 6th grade made fun of us. But that's what we got for not believing the other person had cooties. (we probably did have cooties). 

I remember sitting in your living room (the one your mom makes me sing in now) while we broke open the new legos you got for your birthday. The other kids were out by your shed (the one I can't look at anymore). We didn't care what anyone said. 

You never warned me about the hidden step leading into your kitchen, just so you could laugh when I tripped. I never made an effort to remember, because I'd rather hear you laugh. (I tripped again on it yesterday. Did you laugh in heaven?) 

You made me watch Lord of the Rings with your family (I haven't watched it since). 

When you walked me home from Timberline one day you taught me that if I'm ever with people who are making out, immediately wrap their faces together with plastic wrap so they can't breath. (I still thought kissing was gross). And then we would joke about all the people you made out with. 

I tried forgetting 9th grade yearbook day until I remembered you were the first one there with open arms. (Sorry I got tears on your members only jacket). 

I wish I could go back to everyday that I told you to cut your hair and confess that I really loved it. (even when you made me french braid it). 

You visited me when I got my wisdom teeth out just so you could laugh at my chipmunk cheeks and bring me ice cream. (It was my favorite kind). 

I held everyone's jealousy in Choir, because I got to stand right next to you. (I loved every second).

I can't get myself to clap more than 6 times for anything, because you taught me that that was the limit. (why 6?). 

You taught me how to play pool, wear a scarf fashionably while ice skating, and how to eat spaghetti without a fork. (such useful skills, I know). 

And I'll never forget that last time we talked. Or the feeling when I heard the news. Or that stormy sunday night when my whole view on the world shifted. Or when the heartbreaking sentence "this means it's real" escaped my lips. (I miss you). 

The "you can talk to me" comments pouring in like the ocean, when the only person I wanted to talk to was you. I wanted to know if you're okay, I still do. (Are you okay?) I don't want to cry looking at a selfie of us in my car. But I do. 

Because this shouldn't have happened. (but it did).