"The first time Lance came into my life was like sunshine. I'll never forget the first day I saw him — radiant. Shining so brightly.

It was ninth grade, halfway through the semester when he'd transferred. He came into the classroom with red hair and freckles, mismatched socks that you could see poking out of his sneakers. He had this charm, this irrevocable charisma to him that instantly charmed you, and I was no exception. I didn't interact with him that year. Nor the year after. I watched from afar, I longed to see what his world looked like. To see what Lance Clemens saw. To see the world the same way my red haired wonder did. I like to think that I know what his world looked like now, but I guess it was too late. 

The first time we spoke was eleventh grade, March 4th, around noon. He walked up to me and handed me a flier. It was for a school music festival. I remember being so confused and thinking 'what's with this guy?' I remember asking him that, too. And he laughed. He sounded just like sunshine should. I think I fell even more in love. I didn't just long to see his world at this point, it was my biggest desire. If I could get a single glimpse into his world, I was sure my life would be complete. I was so naive.

After he finished laughing, he looked at me with these soft blue eyes, and asked me to participate with him. He said he'd overheard me singing in the courtyard one day, and that he knew together we could win the school's music festival. At the time I wasn't sure why that was so important to him, but now I know. He wanted to accomplish one big thing while he could. While he still had the chance.

He pretty much begged me to accompany him, and I, more smitten than ever in my life, agreed. I never once thought I'd even get to talk to him, let alone sing alongside him. It was beyond my dreams. Could this be the glimpse I'd been hoping for? It wasn't.

We spent a lot of time together. Days, even nights. I remember the first time I invited him to my house. I cleaned the place spotless and then some. I was so, so nervous. We didn't just talk about music or the festival. We became friends. 

He told me about his family, about how his parents were divorced but still got along. He told me about how his grandfather bought him a guitar for his ninth birthday. He told me about his hatred for carrots, and how he loved the smell of cinnamon. I saw how he'd stuff everything that would fit into pockets that never seemed to be full. I saw him scrunch up his nose at even the sight of mustard, and I saw him watch the birds fly by the window even though he admitted he didn't know anything about birds. He just liked the way they were free. He thought they were pretty.

They were. 

And slowly, with each new discovery, we became closer and closer. Yet I still didn't know what was wrong. The first time I realized it was the night of the festival, October 19th. We won. We'd won and Lance was so happy. He said 'Kyle, look, we did it!' and he hugged me. He hugged me so tight and I was so happy. We walked home, I'd gotten permission to spend the night at his home. It was around midnight, I woke up because I got thirsty. We always slept in the same room, Lance didn't like to leave his guests lonely, and he said his little sister, Camilla's snoring could be heard from the guest room. I later found out that Camilla doesn't snore, Lance just didn't want to be alone. I wish I'd known that sooner.

I walked out of the room and past the bathroom when I saw him, hunched over the toilet, coughing up blood. I didn't know what to do, I was only seventeen, but I knew coughing up blood was never a good thing to be doing. So I ran up to him, asked him what was wrong. He tried to convince me he was fine, but I guess all of the noise woke up his mother. She sat us both down at the dinner table after Lance stopped coughing up blood, and she told me not to freak out. She started off with an apology — Lance had lied to me, to all of us. We'd been told he had severe asthma. But he didn't.

Lance had lung cancer. He'd been diagnosed when he was younger, around eleven or twelve. He'd been out of school for two years when he'd asked to go back in ninth grade. I remember thinking this couldn't be real, but I saw the sorrow on Ms. Clemens' face and the guilt on Lance's and I knew — I knew it was the truth. And she cried, and Lance whispered a million apologies. He hadn't wanted to tell me like this, he hadn't wanted to tell me ever. And I remember being angry. I remember being so angry.

I was angry that he didn't think I was important enough to tell. I was angry at the fact he'd lied to me. I remember excusing myself and going upstairs and I remember the last thing I heard Lance say before I left to go upstairs — it was a horrible, awful sound. A mix between a wail, a sob, and a violent cough. I remember feeling regret. I remember going to sleep. But I was wrong. He didn't tell me because I was important. He was scared. Hell, I think I would've been too. I'd finally seen a piece of his world. And it shook me to my core.

The next morning was awkward until Lance couldn't take it anymore and burst into tears, apologizing and begging me to forgive him. Saying that he cared about me so much that he just couldn't tell me. The sight of him crying, knowing that I'd caused that? I couldn't stay upset. He meant too much to me. He still does.

The next few months went by so quickly. But I was so much more aware now. Every cough sent fear down my spine, I felt nervous every time he excused himself after lunch — probably to go puke up everything he'd just eaten.. but still, I stayed by his side as a faithful friend. And I thought that was all we could ever be.

But then we weren't. Things…changed. It was April, our senior year, over a year had passed since he first spoke to me. And these feelings I had were overwhelming. But I was a coward — I still am. Standing here right now, in front of.. I can barely breathe. 

So I said nothing. I continued our friendship as if nothing had happened. But Lance had another secret. And this time, hearing this secret didn't fill me with hurt and sorrow — I was elated. We started dating. We told his mother, and she cried and hugged us both. We told his father, Mr. Clemens, and he…didn't respond at first. I could feel Lance's fear — he was so close to both his parents, and if his dad hated him for this, I wasn't sure Lance would be okay.

But his father smiled, and told us to be happy, and Lance cried and hugged him. He got his love of hugs from his mom, I suppose. Mr. Clemens gave me a pat on the back and told me I was a good kid. Thank you for that, sir. It meant a lot to the both of us, I promise.

We were happy. Things were going so well. We graduated two months later, in June. Lance hugged me and cried, and his mother did too. My mom pretended not to cry, but I know she did. She always does.

Lance met my mother that day, and that night I brought Lance home to tell her we were together, but before I could even introduce him and bring him into the house, she looked at us, smiled, and asked if I was planning to make my boyfriend stand in the doorway all night. Lance laughed, and so did I. Everything was perfect.

Until two months later, Lance suddenly collapsed one day. It was…so weird. Everything had been fine and then it suddenly wasn't. I was with him that day. I couldn't do anything and I— I've never felt so powerless and weak before.

He was in the hospital for a week before he passed. August 23rd. His lungs had suddenly failed and there was nothing anyone could do. His mother called me at three in the morning, her voice breaking. I probably should've received twenty tickets on my way to the hospital. I didn't know what to do. I was broken. In these past two weeks, everything has been a blur. It feels so unreal. How could someone I love so much suddenly just be…gone?

It didn't make sense. Two weeks later, and it still doesn't. One week ago, my mother called me downstairs. Ms. and Mr. Clemens were there, and Lance's mother had a notebook in her hands. I recognized the cover of it, covered in silly stickers and marker doodles. It was Lance's. She handed it to me, and told me to flip to the last page with writing. I flipped through for a bit, tears in my eyes. It felt wrong, almost. This was Lance's, his personal journal, and even though he was dead, I still wanted to respect his stuff. But I did as his mother asked, and when I got to the last written page, my heart broke even further than I thought possible.

It was a long letter, written to me, explaining that, since I was reading this, he was probably dead. He went on to talk about hopes and dreams, and how he'd wanted to accomplish so much more in life. How it was unfair for him to suffer through this. I couldn't help but agree. If Lance was sunshine and butterflies, and he was, why did he deserve the pain and darkness that cancer brought? But the note didn't end there. It continued, talking about how even though all this has happened, he wouldn't change meeting me. He talked about the first time he heard me sing, how it made him feel. Like he was floating on air, he said. Which is funny, because that's how I'd describe being with him.

He talked about loving me, and apologized for hurting me again. He wished me happiness, and he told me — he told me to find love in this life. To continue to love life itself. To continue to love myself. Me, the person who couldn't do anything to help him. That is the kind of person Lance was — is. Kind, selfless. Loving. Considerate. And I love him. I know for a fact that I will never stop loving him. Because he deserves it. If I can be a fraction of as good as he was, then it is enough. 

He deserves to be remembered. And even though, eventually, life will continue, for now, even for just a moment, I want to let Lance know how much he is missed. I want to scream out at the injustice of everything for taking him away. Because it isn't fair, and it isn't alright. Nothing anyone can say will change this. Time will not heal wounds, but by honoring his memories, and his dying wishes — to love life — we can at least begin to pick ourselves up. I won't forget, and I won't try to forget, either. Lance deserves to be remembered. And we deserve time to grieve. I will always miss him, I will always love him. And there is a time for picking ourselves up. But right now…it's time to grieve. 

Goodbye, my Sunshine. You're free now, to fly with the birds, like you have always wanted. I will always love you. With love, your Kyle, always and forever."