My dearest K.

16.

2 June 2015

My dearest K.,

I have been staying at your house for the past two days. Your mum apparently refuses to stop crying. She keeps saying: "My son is gone...he didn't deserve this...bring my son back". I don't even understand what she means by that...she knows you are on a mission and will come back as soon as it finishes. I don't understand why she does this. Also, your relatives are all here. Your uncle is outside with your dad with their faces pale and their eyes wide open...especially your dad... he has gotten so wrinkled these days and something has broken inside his eyes. Your aunt is trying to calm your mum down at the backyard, but I can notice she has a growing pile of tears in her throat too. Ohh and your friends...they just keep looking at me like I am insane... I know everyone is always looking at me like I am a dying flower since I got sick, but their look is really disturbing me. It's not that I will die at this moment, so please tell them to look somewhere else.

I have been staying in your room these days...at least the air here doesn't smell like grief. The doors and windows are still closed, don't worry... we all know how angry you get when it comes to that. The bed was all tidied, but I messed it up...I know you want it like that. That scratch in the wall that we did while trying to carve a heart, still stands. I love it when we get stupid at the same time. The books in the bookshelf were a mess by the way...your sister must have messed them up again, but don't get mad... I ordered all of them in alphabetical order as you want. I have always wished that among that pile was my book too, but maybe it wasn't my destiny... you know I have been writing some things since I met you, so if I don't survive until you get back, take them...polish in the way you want and try to publish it under the authority of both of us.

I can feel you here...your scent on the pillow hasn't vanished yet... your imaginary touch on my skin still burns me down...your voice while you told me "I love you" still repeats inside my head...oh and those big mysterious green eyes of yours keep causing a storm inside me every time I think of them. I am glad that your scent still makes me drunk...sometimes even a smart person is forced to be drunk to spend time with his own stupidity (you taught me that).

I dreamt of you last night. I swear you saw me there, too. I fell in love with you...again. I have found a way to meet you in my dreams, but the weight of that illusion gets too much when I get up. Just do me a favor and come back soon. I can't stand it when I hear your mum saying: "My son was too young. He didn't deserve this." I really don't understand why she is so obsessed with using past simple. Do all of us a favor and prove them that they are wrong. I am still waiting...okay?

P.S. Guess you didn't have time to think of a question, but send me one as soon as you can. I got used to them now.

Forever yours,

D.