Hey, it’s me.

I’m sorry I’m late, my flight was delayed. You know how English weather gets. I wish I had more time to prepare, but I guess no one is ever actually prepared for these things.

It would be stupid of me to ask how you’ve been. Obviously not so well.

I brought roses. I know they’re your favorite. They’re yellow, too, because it’s your favorite color.

To tell you the truth, I brought yellow roses because I was scared to bring you red ones. I know, it doesn’t have a lot of meaning these days, and you wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Turns out, they take on a lot of meaning when there’s real feelings behind them. I hate that I’m about to tell you this here, now.

I love you, and I want to blame all the gods I never believed in that I’m telling you this for the first time on your grave. I blame myself for never gathering up the courage to tell you when we had time. I blame you, too, a bit for leaving so unexpectedly. But that’s selfish of me. I’m sorry.

You’re still my best friend, and I love you. I’m glad that you’re finally resting.

I miss you.