letter to no one

and then it hits you so much harder than you thought it ever would.

—

first of all, i didn't think of this quote all by myself. you know i'm not that poetic. i found it on the internet and wrote it down here because i didn't know how to start and it fit my current state of mind so well it's agonizing.

so, there's this: you are gone. gone gone gone. you just ... slipped away. faded. at least, that's what it feels like for me. because one moment you were there and the next thing i knew ... you weren't. just weren't part of this world anymore.

i want you to know that from the moment i met you, i knew you would be gone one day. everyone knew this day eventually would come. you knew it too. it could've been weeks; months; hell, even years until you'd be gone; just another body inside a coffin being lowered into the ground, ready to be eaten by worms or something. you didn't have that much time, though. you didn't have years. at the beginning it hadn't been clear how little time you had left, but what everyone knew was that you were going to die, no matter what. your malady is incurable ... your death inevitable, and that's just cruel, in my opinion.

but i also want you to know that despite everything everyone constantly kept telling me (and i'm sure you did too at the start but eventually just didn't have the energy to anymore), i still had hope. this silly hope that one day, a miracle would happen and they could find a way to cure you. of course it was childish. of course that wasn't going to happen, deep down i always knew that. i just didn't want to accept it. i still don't, i guess.

i don't want to believe that our whole world works like this; that something fades and is just replaced, as if it wasn't important the way it was before. that there are no miracles, just the raw and ugly truth. isn't the truth the cruelest thing? i can't stand it.

but this is life; and life isn't fair.

i had always been afraid of the day it would happen. the day i'd wake up, somehow knowing that you wouldn't. the day i'd open my eyes and you wouldn't. couldn't. ever again. it's not like i constantly thought about it whenever i looked at you or something, but there was always this lurking fear somewhere inside of me that i could never quite shake off.

i still remember the exact day as though everything happened just minutes ago. i mean, it's not something you would forget that easily.

it was a saturday. a beautiful, warm saturday in spring. even now, it's still hard to believe. it seems just so ... ironic. then again, that's life.

but just imagine that: it's a sunny, innocent day, everything is fine and just the way you like it and then — boom. someone you love dies. would you expect something like that? i figure you wouldn't. i can't really tell.

but i most certainly didn't.

so, nothing concerning that matter crossed my mind when i had woken up with the early sun shining through my open windows. the clock on my nightstand read 9:16 am. it was strange, because the numbers seemed to practically imprint themselves into my mind ... at this point i hadn't known why. i do now, and to be honest with you: i almost wish i didn't.

i had had this nagging feeling in my gut all morning, as if i should know something important but couldn't remember it — only it was worse. i couldn't explain it back then, i still can't really. i had just known something was wrong; something seemed so off. i guess you can call it intuition.

nevertheless i got dressed, shrugging the bad feeling off, successfully convincing myself that everything was okay.

i had had nothing to do, so a bit later that day i had been wandering through the streets, all alone and completely lost in thoughts. i hadn't even realized i was going in the direction of your house until i was literally snapped out of my daze by the sound of the ringing doorbell.