on rainy nights, i walk around to the library just for the feeling of old memories to flood my brain and my mood boosting thinking about him. he was my best friend. he wore thin framed glasses coloured black, jet black hair and always the same grey hoodie. he always sat at the stairs to the entrance of the library, he was either sleeping peacefully against the wall or reading a book while listening to music. he looked at peace and not bothered. i always noticed that he was there specifically on days that weren't always the best for me, like it was meant to be.
he was a sweet soul, really. it's a shame it ended that way. i wish i could've done more but he would be happy of where i am now. i go to sit on the very step that he always sat at, with carvings on the wall of his initials that i carved in when he died. my hands gently brush over the carvings, i miss him a lot.
i take out his favourite book from my bag and start silently reading it, my eyes reading the familiar words knowing what'll come next. i never stop reading it even after i've finished it over 5 times. it is truly a good book.
i find myself blinking away to sleep,
finally letting go of my memory of him.
