“What do I do know? Do I start believing in heaven and hell? How should I picture you? Are you wearing glasses and your favourite T-shirt over there? ‘Cause I can’t picture you without glasses on. Will you always be 22 in the after life? And if you had died at 82, would you have been forever old? Are you sitting on clouds? Are you watching me? Will you always be watching me? Even if I don’t want to? Will I ever see you again? Can you hear me when I talk to you in my head? Can I bring you back?”
I sent him an email after I was told what happened and after I stopped crying. It felt like my last chance to tell him how much I care. I gave a piece of me in that email and sent it to the other world.
I feel guilty for not knowing how many years have past. Maybe five. Could be four or six. The truth is for me time has passed as usual, that’s why I can’t remember. I hate that. I couldn’t keep my promise. I tried for a while though. I thought of him every night for months. I don’t know the reason why, but eventually days went by without talking to him in my head. But I still miss him. And I still think he was one of the best people I knew. For a 22 year old, he had done so much: set up a foundation, raised money and implemented projects to help persons in need. He was funny and cute. He had plans. He was in love. Many people loved him.
He would have turned 23 the year he died. I am now 23. And I’m trying to live my life as if I might die anytime.
And I still talk to him in my head and tell him: “Don’t worry. I’ll never forget you.”
