he exists and i know that he does. whether i see his pictures or not, whether i run into his friends on the street or at a memorial service or at whole foods, whether i acknowledge it, his existence unflinchingly remains. and i don’t know why that still moves me, really, i just know that it does. on the sunniest day with the best jams playing on my headphones in the sweet anticipation of seeing a cute boy in class after having a breakfast of floppy pancakes and buttery syrup, this sudden, jarring and unwelcome, reminder of his existence still has a way of wrecking me. And It Isn’t That I Wish He Didn’t Exist, It’s Just That I Wish I Didn’t Know About Him.