RIP Ronnie

God damn.

Six years have passed. He was the first dead body I saw (previous life as a zombie hunter excluded).

Shit, he was my first everything. First kiss, first boyfriend, first fuck. first love.

Ronnie was my friend Mikan’s older brother. Two years older than me. He introduced me to fantastic music and I introduced him to weed. We started dating when I was 14. I moved in with him at 16 when I couldn’t stand my mother anymore.

I worshiped the fuck out this kid. He was my definition of perfection. Everything about him was ideal and original. Except for the gay ass Star Wars rebel alliance tattoo on his forearm. He was a dying breed of beautiful.

After high school, I got accepted into my dream school. But it meant moving. And Ronnie didn’t want leave. I never understood why. Our town was such a shit bowl. We fought about it constantly. The fighting just got worse and worse so one day, we decided to go rock climbing. Let off some steam. It was our therapy.

But Ronnie wasn’t really focused. Too much shit on his mind I guess. My shit. He fell 50 ft. The autopsy pointed the death finger at a sharp rock that caught his fall. Severe head trauma or something.

Worst fucking day of my life.

By the time I climbed down to where his body landed, I realized he was dead. We didn’t have cellphones so I had to force myself to hike the 6 miles back to civilization.

To this day I couldn’t tell you a single thing from that walk. Not one fucking thought, sight, smell. Nothing. I’m pretty sure if someone saw me, they’d mistake me for a zombie. I was completely vacant.

It’s only gotten harder. Especially now. With my dad on his death bed.

I have no desire to get over him. He was it for me. Sure, I’ve lost myself in the sheets a time or two since Ronnie. But never emotionally. I’m sure my therapist would give me some bullshit about not letting go. But fuck her. And fuck everyone else. I gave my heart to one person, and one person only. 
 

So this bowl’s for you my Dio. RIP love.