15 Years Without You
I don’t care about the dates and numbers anymore. They have less and less importance as I am growing older. Other things are becoming priorities. But I won’t forget the day you left us. I will remember that date as long as there is a spark of sanity left in me.
I miss you, Marcel.
The more I get into the depth of your character and dive into the sea of kindness with which you abound, the harder for me is everything I have done to sin against you. Everything I denied you.
Forgive me. It was a beautiful day last week. I think it was Friday. The sun warmed like no other day of the year. There was a pleasant wind, and the scents of flowers and sprouted grass rose from the ground. I thought I would pick fresh green grass for you as soon as it grew a little more. I thought I’d surprise you with this gift. But I will never give it to you, love, and that makes me feel like garbage. If I had known. If I had only sensed—if I had wanted to admit to myself!—you could have tasted the first grass of this spring, no matter how short and unripe its leaves were. But I was a coward and ran from reality! I stole from you the last touch of just-awakened nature, because not even the trees had fully bloomed yet.
April 19, 2006–April 19, 2020
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