writing is something i do when i'm breathing

I found out last night at about 11 that a good friend of mine in high school died earlier on Wednesday with his younger girlfriend after hydroplaning into a tree on the interstate. I received a text from another friend, telling me, but groggy with sleep as I was, I didn't really process it. When I woke up again a few hours later, she had written back, "This is real." And after that, I realized I'd been dreaming about him. And then I couldn't go back to sleep.

I haven't talked to him regularly since we left high school, but I'd see him every now and again, keep up with his song writing and creative writing on Facebook. It'd always inspire me to want to write something, whenever I would see him post something. His writing is some of the most beautiful stuff I've ever read, and it always made me want to just sit and wonder about how he could have written it.

In high school, he was part of the party/stoner crowd, but he was so damn sweet and funny and handsome that I still liked to sit next to him in our Creative Writing class. He never did his work unless the assignment appealed to him, instead telling us his stories about his most recent drug use and how that worked out for him. If I misspoke, he'd repeat it back and make fun of me. We agreed that if we weren't married by the time we were 34, we'd have a kid together because it'd be the smartest and most good-looking child on the planet. But that's not going to happen.

I've been crying, sobbing really, on and off since 3 o'clock, when I got on the computer and found an actual news article confirming what I was hoping was just a joke gone too far. I can't seem to focus on anything for more than a few minutes, and immediately after I eat something I want to throw it up. There's going to be a double funeral on Saturday for him and his girlfriend, who was only 17 years old and one of the most caring individuals I've ever met. I can't even think the words double funeral without reacting, it's such a heinous idea.

And even though I knew him, I still feel like my grief pales in comparison to his friends, the people who really knew him--I can only imagine that whatever I'm feeling, they're feeling times a thousand. But even without that kind of bond, I do know that I love him, and I took for granted that there was a ray of such goodness and light in the world. It just breaks my heart.