Thinking about life without Brandon every day is sad. No Brandon quirks, no gawking at my boobs, no pinky promises, no goodnight kisses, no random gropes, and no beard to stroke.
Our love is one of a kind. It’s deep, passionate, everlasting, forgiving, kind, sweet, honest, gentle, and pure.
If Brandon was buried in a cemetery his grave would be a campsite. Don’t put it past our love.
Life would stop for me.
Days would not be the same without talking to Brandon. He doesn’t have to answer, he doesn’t have to voice an opinion, he doesn’t have to agree with me. He lends his ears when needed and that’s enough.
Listening has always been enough.
Brandon can be around for pillow talk, someone to turn to when the sky turns gray, or when a heart smiles. He can be there through it all -forever- if he’d agree to be cremated.
He wanted to be buried.
Brandon is allowing cremation if he gets flashed daily. He needs to gawk after death.
I will motorboat his urn.