I can't get used to you being a memory.

In 25 years you were a son, a brother, a student, a friend, a musician, a writer, a roommate (or a couch-mate), a boyfriend, a lover, a heartbreaker, an alcoholic, an outlaw, a hearty laugh, a big squeeze, a dancer, a cook (well...sort of), a poet, a victim, a confidant, a drifter, a believer, and a soul mate.

Just like all the bits of life in the stories we tell, you've become a memory. And I just can't get used to you being a memory.