Thirteen is my lucky number. But not when it’s the number of the years I’ve been missing you. Not when I go through life without you. My brother, my friend, my everything.
My heart is full and empty, of memories and sadness. Despite losing you, I’m a rich man, thanks to you.
You are not here anymore but your monument is still standing. As long as I stand, and maybe even a little longer. Thanks to everyone who reads about you and loved you.
A World Without Color is your home now. This is where we live, love. 🖤
Thank you for everything.
My thoughts come rushing back like raging currents of mountain rivers that do not stop for anything or anyone. Hurrying with a roar to their finish line, completely self-sufficient. Each word I make immortal here must be engraved with the dedication of a blind stonemason who, just by sense of touch and guided by indestructible faith, creates from the shapeless mass a work which present generations, but also those who come after, will admire. Those who are alive today, and their children who are just born, setting the foundation for new generations. This is our written monument and I snuggle up against it, blinded by the pain inflicted upon me by every minute that takes us into the future. The future is what I want to avoid at any cost, selfishly keeping the present so these moments last as long as possible. Not thinking about you and the relief it will bring you. We are both on the road of no return. Do you think so too? Do you also feel at least a fraction of regret we will part soon, with no guarantee and no promise that, in the blink of an eye or the distant future, we might meet each other again? Tell me, dearest....
April 19, 2006 – April 19, 2019
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