I lost my cousin nine years ago today. I remember the moment I found out-where I was, who I was with, how I walked to my room in shock, not crying, but was out of breath when I reached the top of the stairs. I wrote about what I felt, and played a song as I gazed out the window, staring and not believing. It was then I cried, alone. I didn't know how I was supposed to live the rest of my life without him. I was thirteen. He was fourteen. How could I never see him again? But I haven't, only in my dreams, and I've lived this long still, in pain, carrying on his memory and never willing myself to forget.