6: 2:45, thoughts on a best friend
This bed is too firm. A windowless room with orange walls, cinnamon, motivational posters. Syllables combine inside my head: wish you were here, miss you with every quark of my being, I hope you have been reincarnated; I hope your genes are pure, that perhaps you will know life without poison in your lungs. It wasn’t my intention to write about you today. It is the beginning of a bright new decade and I will tell you about it, I will speak to you aloud as I have done, even if it looks like I am addressing the wind.
It has been nearly ten months and the wounds freshen weekly. Prickles beneath my eyelids when a sad song plays, a sudden flashback to your swollen hands, crying on the phone in a hospital corridor, making those phone calls.
Living without your words, your raspy laughter, crystal yellow-green eyes - it’s still beautiful but the emptiness hurts. It’s a physical pain.
I want to try to live fully and to dream big the way you did. There is no prognosis for me. There is no impending end. That alone should be motivation enough. I will do it for you - you’ll see.
