I feel like a broken record with some of the things I say.

No matter how much time has passed, and it’s not much at this point, it still feels… wrong. I feel like I keep sleeping and have yet to wake up. I can still see the last time I saw you. The last time you visited. Still thinking you’ll eventually come into my room laughing about some snap chat or text you received.

Your stuff finally came back home this month. Mom spends more time in your room now. It looks like you never left. Just how it was most of our lives.