I knelt down next to the cool marble stone. A single tear ran down my cheek and splashed on the stone. "Sorry, love." I whispered, unable to raise my voice any louder. I went to wipe it away, but hesitated. This was the first time I'd cried in almost two years. Does it mean I'm getting better? I don't want to get better. Not if it means forgetting. I want to remember. I want to remember the short months I knew you. I want to remember your smile, your laugh, your hair, everything. I haven't forgotten anything yet. Two years and I still remember everything.

Two years.

Two years since that night. Two years since I lost the love of my life. Two years since you were taken from me, too young. Two years since the worst night of my life. I'm still haunted by nightmares every night. The terror. The screaming. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Watching that bastard stab you, not being able to get there in time to save you. The blood. Crying, trying to stop it. Watching you get weaker by the second. "I love you.." The first and last time I would ever hear you say those words. The end of everything. Gone. Forever.

They asked me to say something at the funeral. The Warblers sang for you. Julian joined them. I wrote down everything I wanted to say to you. I was going to tell everyone how much I loved you. Then I couldn't even get one word out. I choked up and just stood there. It was an open casket ceremony. They left me alone so I could say goodbye. I didn't. I couldn't even look at you. I knew if I did, I would never be able to leave. I would have found some way of ending it right then, just so I could see you smile again. It wasn't fair that I got to live, and you had to die.

So many times over the past two years I've thought about joining you. I go walking and find myself standing in the middle of a bridge, or the edge of a cliff, about to jump. I zone out and suddenly I'm in the bathroom with a razor pressed to my wrist, or I'm tying a noose out of whatever I get my hands on. Scarves, ties, belts, even bed sheets. I take medication for it, but nothing helps. Nothing takes away the pain. I stop myself before I can do anything. I can't die. Not yet. I have to live. I'm not living for myself anymore. I'm living for you. You wouldn't want me to die yet. You'd want me to live. To finish school, go to Julliard or some other performing arts place, get married and move on. I can't promise to get married and move on. Sorry. It wouldn't be fair to my partner. I wouldn't love them like they would deserve, because I would always be in love with you.

I'm living with Kurt and Blaine now. It's... better than living on my own, I guess. Blaine's there when I need to talk to someone and Kurt keeps an eye on me. Y'know, make sure I take my medication and stuff. They're trying to help. I'm just glad that they didn't abandon me when they saw me at my worst. I know a lot of other people would. My parents for example. They saw how upset I was at the funeral and connected the dots. I haven't heard a word from them since. I don't really care though.

I miss you. So much. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about you. There's a massive hole in my chest, that I know I can only get rid of by seeing you again. I'm just going to have to wait though, aren't I? Only 60 or so more years.

I stood up again, brushing my fingertips over the angel that marks your grave. I chose it, with your mother's guidance, of course. It looks so much like you, which is why I chose it. Almost splitting image. My fingers trace the curls falling down onto it's face, imagining that it's you that I'm touching. I think back to your last words. II love you./I I sigh, giving the angel a soft smile. I cup its face with my hand, as I did with you as i watched you breathe your last.

"I love you too, Reed Van Kamp."