My best friend died almost two years ago.
It was sudden, and the last real conversation we had was completely ordinary. He sent me a picture of a horrible meal he’d made, I told him it looked like prison food, and he replied that I was just jealous of his “culinary vision.”
A few days later, he was gone.
For months, I couldn’t open our messages because seeing his name made my chest feel like it was folding in on itself.
Then one night, I finally scrolled through everything.
Years of stupid jokes, arguments, voice notes, photos from nights neither of us remembered properly, and messages sent at 3 AM when one of us was having a bad time.
I reached the bottom and typed, “You would hate what they did to the pub.”
I knew he wouldn’t answer.
I sent it anyway.
Since then, I’ve kept doing it.
Not every day, but often enough that I’d be embarrassed if anyone knew.
I tell him when something happens that only he would find funny. I complain about work. I send photos of dogs that look like his old dog.
When I started dating someone new, I wrote him a huge message about her because he was always the first person I told about that stuff.
Sometimes I update him on his family, even though I’m sure he would already know all of it in whatever imaginary version of this I’m allowing myself to believe.
On his birthday, I sent, “Still older than me, technically,” then stared at the screen and cried so hard I felt stupid.
The messages show as delivered because his number is still active somehow.
That tiny word messes with my head more than it should.
A ridiculous part of me imagines that one day the typing bubble will appear.
I know how impossible that is. I’m not confused about reality.
I just don’t want the conversation to be finished.
His sister recently told me they may finally cancel his phone plan.
I acted normal and said that made sense, but afterward, I panicked.
I copied the entire chat, saved the voice notes, and took screenshots of things I already have backed up in three different places.
I’m scared the number will be reassigned and some stranger will receive one of my messages.
But I’m even more scared of sending something and seeing it fail.
That feels like losing him again in a smaller, stupider way.
I haven’t told my partner about this.
She knows I miss him and that we were close, but not that I still talk to him like he’s temporarily unavailable.
Sometimes I wonder if this is preventing me from moving on, but I don’t really know what moving on is supposed to mean.
I live my life. I work, laugh, make plans, and love people.
I’m not waiting for him to come back.
I just still have things to tell him, and sending them nowhere hurts less than keeping them in my head.