One time this happened...

My friend Tom's house has been playing the same three CDs on repeat for three months now – The Cranberries, Coldplay, and The Strokes. Every time we hang out, he makes small talk by pointing at me from across the room, mouth set in a stern expression, singing "Ode to My Family" as loud as he possibly can.

When Alex called me 'crazy' while we watched that sunset on the beach, I took the 'crazy person' label with an unsettling amount of pride – maybe because his girlfriend was trying to get a selfie in and wasn't letting anyone in the way. For some reason the smell of coconut sunscreen makes me think this is where our friendships began unravel.

The smell of stale coffee clings to our conversation, a lingering reminder of last night's 3 a.m. discussion about nothing in particular.

I've spent the last three days practicing how to cook eggs, mainly scrambling and making overeasy; my friend Claire asked casually while we sipped coffee if she could come over for a cooking session before work and honestly, nothing's changed, still slightly overestimating our kitchen skills.

Sometimes memories seep out of my earplugs when I'm walking to work. Last week, one of them was about Emily.

Sometimes I find myself rummaging through my grandmother's attic, searching for anything remotely useful to distract me from the sound of Emily's voice. She's got one of those 'let's-just-talk-it-out' personalities, but honestly, it's just been too much for me to handle.