I don't remember much about last year. Almost nothing after September. I stayed on my room for days, even weeks at a time. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. It seemed that I was numb to everything but the pain. The absence of him.

He was my best friend. James and I met in kindergarten, we had been best friends ever since. His death hit me like that of a family member. He was more of a brother to me than a friend.

I told him not to get into that stupid car. I knew his brother had been drinking, I knew he wouldn't be safe. If I could go back and change anything, it would be letting him get in that car. I would still have my best friend.

Today I stand at his grave. I stand with his parents and kid sister. To think it was a year ago. I'm not sure how I've managed to survive on my own. It feels like I've been without him for a lifetime, but the pain still stings like a fresh wound.

I've gotten rather good at painting on a smile, but today I don't try. I let myself cry, I let myself feel. Like a waterfall the tears fall. Wiping the blackened water on my sleeve, ignoring the stains it will inevitably leave.

I set down a lily, his favorite flower, and take a deep breath. I would bring a rose, but it's cliché, and if there is one thing James didn't like, its a cliché.