grieving, constantly grieving.

i was seven when i first experienced grief.

i was mostly lonely growing up, both my parents were working, and their relationship was not that great either, so i stayed with my mother most of the time, while my father was just there, not so present

so i used to spend a lot of time with my nanny, she was there for me whenever i needed her, she was so sweet and kind, and she understood the things i was not even able to express myself

kids my age did not really accept me because i was different, i barely had any friends, but i had a best friend, and he was enough. more than enough, i would say

so me, him, and my nanny, who eventually became our nanny, used to play together all the time, she was all a lonely child could ever ask for

but she had cancer.

and when we were seven, she died.

yes, i still grieve her.

i miss her melodious voice, i miss how she used to feed me bread and jam after school, i miss sleeping on her lap while she recited stories from books to me, i miss the way she used to kiss my cheek whenever i sat close to her, and most of all, i miss telling her about how the kids were bullying me, and hearing her encourage me not to drown in the sadness i carried when i was only seven

after my nanny died, all i had left was my best friend

he meant the world to me,

the little boy with bright, enormous dreams, he had this spark in his eyes, the kind of spark only a few are born with, he was the smartest and kindest human i had ever known, he used to read books with no pictures in them, and then he would come to me just to tell me about them, he used to write letters to fictional characters, fold them into paper aeroplanes or little boats, and send them away, hoping those fictional characters would somehow find his words

he was pure.

he was magic.

we grew up together, becoming two completely different people while somehow remaining very much alike, he was into books and art, while i was into sports and dance, but we always found a common ground and met each other halfway,

i think that is how we became inseparable.

we used to talk about growing up, going to college together, and building our own houses next to each other someday, he used to tell me how his house was not safe for him, and i always failed to understand what he truly meant, he used to talk about leaving this world, about finding a new galaxy somewhere and building a new life there, and i would laugh at it every time

we talked about leaving a lot,

leaving our city, our country, and doing something extraordinary with our lives,

we wanted to go and live on the moon,  the kind of conversations only two eight-year-old children could have, and we were those children.

he wanted to become a doctor and cure people suffering from cancer because our nanny had died from it.

i would just sit there and listen to him talk about the way he thought and the things he carried inside his mind

i was a sad child.

he was a depressed one.

i was loud.

he was suppressed.

i was bright.

he was oppressed.

we were both victims in different ways, but he was the one who chose to rest.

he always used to talk about leaving this universe, and one day, when we were twelve, he did exactly what he said,  he left me behind, alone, with the people we used to call aliens, and he chose to leave this world where he was never addressed

i could not do that. i was not as brave as he was, or maybe i wasn't a coward,

but i know how much he suffered before he finally gave up

he always wanted to fly high like an eagle,

and in the end, he did.

he grew wings.

and he flew.

i am still here, though

i still mourn his death to this day, i have never made another best friend after him,

i have never opened up to anyone the way i opened up to him, and i do not think i ever will.