When you closed your eyes for good, the two that I see life through stopped being just mine.
They’re still green, outlined in dark blue.
Just like yours.
They still squint when I smile.
Just like yours. 
I look in the mirror, and without warning, it’ll feel like I’m looking at you again. 

I laugh and I can see yours. Eyes closed. Head tilted down. Wide smile.
Just like mine. 

And everyone told me you’re in a better place now.
A little part of me hopes that place is within me. 

Our same eyes saw the Pacific Ocean, and the LA lights from the top of the Santa Monica Pier Ferris wheel.

You smile too when, six years later, your friends still send me pictures and videos of the times you all shared together.

You and I are still dancing and singing along to music with each concert I go to (sorry I made you go to Kesha. I really needed that one) 

And when people ask what my natural hair color is I show them a picture of you cause lord knows how far back I’d have to go to find one of me with no hair dye. 
But we shared that as well.
Not quite blonde. Not quite brown. Not quite red. You did use to say “I’m just trying to get my hair as long as Andreas”. 
There’s plenty for both of us.  

We both hated our nose. But I’ll never forget riding home with you in the dark,summer night. With the windows down and music blasting and the smell of your camel cigaret that burned from your hand. 

I’ll be 32 in a few months. Three years older than you ever got to be.
But I’m still that little girl who is in her bed in the middle of the night writing about you cause I can’t sleep. And for some reason everything is easy to write about when wrapped in a memory of you. 

Maybe that’s what they meant by you being in a better place. Just like when we were kids and I’d crawl up into the top bunk of your bed and you’d tell me stories to go to bed.
Now through our same green/blue eyes we look at the screen and I get to be the medium you use to get them out.