There are names that carry weight, not because of what they belonged to, but because of who they were. Brian Keith Ashley—B—was more than just a name. He was a presence, a force, someone whose absence feels as heavy as his laughter once felt light.

If time had mercy, if moments could be rewound like old film, it wouldn’t be just one. It would be every single one. The conversations, the quiet moments, the times when just being in the same space was enough. And at the end of it all, the words that matter most would be the ones that should have been spoken a thousand times more.

"I love you."

There is no final goodbye for someone like Brian. Love like his doesn’t get swallowed by silence, it doesn’t fade with time. It lingers in the places he stood, in the memories that refuse to dull, in the hearts that still beat with the ache of missing him.

B, you are not gone. You are carried forward, held close, and loved beyond words. Always.