My dearest K.

4.

10 January 2015

My dearest K.,

I love you, big boy. God, I really miss mocking you about how tall you are and your ironic reply that I was so short that even when it rains, I am the last person to feel the raindrops over my skin. You know you are a jerk, don't you? Luckily, you are my jerk. I took your letter baby and if you want to know, you made my heart swell by the simplicity and purity of your question: "What are you doing today?", because I was just imagining you somewhere in that army camp, thinking of me when you should be training and protecting yourself from the bullets.

Everything has been so plain and meaningless since you left, except that I can't sleep at night. I get up at 3 AM and since I can't talk with you, I put my earphones on and listen to music till 6 AM (usually I fall asleep again after this hour). I couldn't sleep again this morning baby... I can't help but be nostalgic about my life, about you, about us...and...and...and if I will be able to see you before you know...pass away. It's just unfair what God arranged for you and me... you don't deserve to suffer for this, but I promise I will fight big boy... I will fight for us till my trembling legs can't walk anymore and my shaking heart decides to stop dancing its weird tango.

Today I had my first doctor appointment since I have started writing these letters to you. I hate hospitals. Everything is pale and everyone tries to be optimistic by saying that everything will be okay... but how can you feel optimism in a place full of dying wishes? I hate these doctors that see more like a disease to be cured and less like a person that needs to truly live. Please remember to give them a black eye when you come back. I hate my parents for forcing that damn smile on their sad face, even though they know I am a failed case. I guess I disappointed everyone, didn't I? The great, cute, smart D. is vanishing day by day like a virus. I just wish I was an octopus sometimes, so I could slap several people at once for looking at me that pitifully.

I don't want to be negative, you know... but it's just ironic how some nights we are Van Gogh's words of hope and some nights we are his suicide letter. Please come back soon... I need you baby. You once told me you could set fire to the world around you but never let a flame touch me. I need you to keep your promise now because I am in the middle of the flames and nobody but you can rescue me.

Forever yours,

D.