This is for one of my best friends; Jack. 

Well. The first year has passed. That went quickly, though I’m sure it wouldn’t have gone quickly for you, if you were still alive.
I still talk to you, you know. Obviously, you don’t know, but you would, if you hadn’t died. But then, I’d still be speaking to you out loud. You seem to have elevated yourself to the pantheon of my internal monologue. Your the one who glibly suggests I could run a little bit further, and a little faster, at that. You’ve turned into a fairly reasonable sports coach. You’d have enjoyed that, in different circumstances. 
I nearly phoned you, a few times. Things have happened that you’d have found as funny as I found them. I’ve got your number, and then suddenly realised you won’t answer, even if I do press the green button. I can’t bring myself to delete your number. I don’t know why. We both know I’m not superstitious; we talked that one to death many times, though I don’t really enter into those conversations any more. Not sure what the reasons behind that are, either. 
That struck me as odd at your memorial, though I suppose that wasn’t really for you. Your dad said the way we felt was us being selfish. Took the wind out of my sails for a couple of hours, but he was probably right. Someone else said something similar to what I’d thought. 
Your dad really thought the World of you. I hope you knew that. Lots of us did, too. You’ve been remembered well. I know that’s something you didn’t think was the case, but it’s true. There’s still tears being shed. 
I’m off for a run now. I shouldn’t have told you; I’ve lost any chance I had of a head start, so you’ll be making it that little bit more difficult for me.
Speak soon, my friend.