It’s twilight. Another day has gone by. It’s not the same without him. It’s not the same to end a day without him. It’s not the same to live without him. Once again, I’ll be thinking of him at night, before I go to sleep, I’ll dream of him while I’m asleep, and when I wake up, I’ll wish he were there to wake up beside me. For a year, that’s how I’ve been living my life. Grieving, mourning, unable to move on, from the tragedy that stopped me from living and functioning properly, I did it faithfully every day.
When I was thirteen, I realized that my life wasn’t worth living. And if something is not worth all the suffering, and hardships, you needn’t endure it. So I knew I needn’t endure life. But I gave myself time to think twice. Until my 25th birthday, that is. Time to live through high school, time to excel college, time to travel, get wasted in Vegas, consecutive one night stands, and find a job that I love, and most importantly, someone I love, and who’d love me as well.
I got into Harvard, I met Andrew. We were friends, but I had a little crush on him ever since we met. He had a girlfriend shortly after we became close. But throughout college, he seemed to realize what I meant to him. It was our last year that he finally confessed, and that’s when I did too. I didn’t have a crush on him anymore, I grew out of it, but I realized that he did mean something to me, something more than just a good friend. And I did love him, he was special to me. He could understand me, and we were close friends. He was one of the very few people I could go to when my problems had an outburst.
The two of us had big career dreams, and luckily, we both were accepted in jobs in New York. It was coming soon, my 25th birthday, but not even Andrew was a big enough reason to stay. The day before my birthday, I was promoted to Senior Fashion Editor, after a year I first started. Andrew started out small in a company he wanted to be a big part of someday, he was busy all the time, but he always seemed to have time for me, and for other things. He was taking me to a park tomorrow to celebrate my birthday. I already bought three bottles of sleeping pills. I didn’t want to die a bloody, painful way. What’s the point of eternal rest if you’d end it by something brutal? So I was all prepared in all possible ways.
Andrew was in San Francisco, but I didn’t know exactly what time he’d be back. I went to his apartment and opened the door, and found him lying on his bed in his boxers and a flannel shirt, speaking to someone on the phone. The hung up on the person he was speaking to, and places his attention on me. I remember that night up to now; it was a night that was probably the only night that matters in my entire existence.
“Sorry, I didn’t know when you were coming back,” I say sheepishly for a reason unknown.
“Oh no, come in,”
I went inside and walked to his bed, where I sat down across him.
“We’re supposed to meet tomorrow evening, you’re early,” he said with a smile.
I told him that I just needed him then, for he was the only one around who could comfort me. There are only two people in this world that can comfort me. The other one, she’s a different story, but Andrew is the one here with me now.
Next think I know I was lying down beside him, the two of us facing each other. Before I could burst into tears, the clock struck 12, and I was 25. After about a minute of silence, that was when he told me he loved me. That he couldn’t die for me because he lived for me, that he couldn’t give up his life for me, because I am his life, that he didn’t want me, because he needed me, and that all in all, I was his life. And there I had it, a reason to live. Andrew, a friend, a lover, a reason. But after two weeks, the reason left for London.
We knew we had to go our own paths one day, and that we would meet in between. We were both ambitious, and we allowed each other to fulfill our commitments to our careers. And so he moved to London, and I stayed here in New York, suicidal free. It wasn’t until two years after until I saw him again. This time, it was I who made the journey.
I was relocated to work for the magazine in London, and overjoyed I was to see him again. But I wasn’t sure of how he’s led his life without me. How he’s lived the two years while he was free. But I didn’t worry myself, if he didn’t love me the way he did before, I’d be fine with it, as long as I had the same friend to keep.
He invited me to come with him and his family to the beach before my work there started. We were sharing a room, with one bed. I found it awkward at that time, we barely had time to speak before this, and now we were going to share a bed. Things were different back then. Back in his apartment in New York, his bed was small and fit for one person. This was a bed fit for a married couple.
We went about fine, talking about how our lives were for the past two years. Then he told me about his interest in men, but how he still loved me at the same time. He was terrified and confused, especially on how his family would react if they found out. He cried on my shoulder that night. I made him write down everything that he needed to let out.
Later that night, when we were about to sleep, he thanked me for everything I’ve done for him, and I thanked him as well, saying that without him, I wouldn’t possible be able to live. Doubting that, and being unaware of the problems I faced, I told him. “Remember that night I went to your apartment, a few weeks before you moved here? It was my 25th birthday, and I had a compromise with myself, that if by the time I’m 25, and I find no purpose to live, I’d kill myself. That night, you told me you loved me, and that you needed me. You saved me, Andrew. And I want to know if you still feel the same way.”
He said he still loves me, and that he never stopped loving me, and that he still longs for me when we’re far away. But he was confused with who he was. And I had to help him figure things out. But I couldn’t help him out. This was him, and you can’t divert someone’s personality into something different. It was up to him this time.
After that week with him, we were nothing but friends. Not as close, but we still needed each other’s company once in a while. It was by the next year that he died. It was cancer, and he never told anyone about, not even his family. I felt as if a part of me died as well, because a part of me was him. The part of me that he helped me build was gone along with him. And to now, two years after his death, I still cannot move on. He didn’t deserve to die; he was doing great in life. He had much more in store of him, but as what happens most of the time, the best ones get out first.
How can I forget Andrew? Not even for a while could I. It would be like forgetting a part of me. But he’s left a legacy in this world, and left the ones he loved behind, with a part of him with them.
Andrew was a ray of sunshine, a gleam of hope, a dose of happiness, and a handful of help. But it ends, and it turned dark. But unlike the days, it won’t begin again, unless the ones he left it with start it.
It’s twilight. It’s about time I begin what he left with me.
