3.9

            Remembering Trevor is like self-inflicting a wound. As I talk about him, my lips forming words while my brain fogs up with emotion, it feels like I’m shooting myself in the chest with a gun.

            I met Trevor in school. He was graduating, a year ahead of me, and as cheesy as it sounds, there was a spark between us. I found myself being drawn to him and running into him in the most unexpected of places. He was always on my mind.

            We fell in love – or so I thought. What we had wasn’t love, it was the unhealthiest relationship we could have possibly had.

            And then we fought. And he died.