One Life For Another
When I was ten I caught you going through my computer in my room, and threw a hysterical fit. No one had read my writing before, and there you stood, exposing the very core of my being as you sifted through pages and pages of my soul. I immediately passworded everything, putting a concrete barrier between the outside world and my writings. You were trying to tell me it was good, you were trying to tell me I should pursue being a writer, you were trying to tell me how for the first time in our entire lives you understood me, you understood that all of my quirks and introvertedness led to the most beautiful story you had ever read.
We fought, we lost touch, we put barriers thicker than prison bars between us. Until, one day, a light shined down on both of us, offering a bridge between the misunderstandings we spent over a decade living with. I understood your pain, you understood mine.
I didn’t understand it enough to stop you from taking your own life on a hot, July night in a hospital room under suicide watch.
Curled up in the fetal position on an empty bed, in an empty apartment on the Upper West Side after receiving the call that no twenty-three year old should ever receive, I suddenly craved for you to sneak into my room just one more time to read the things that no one else will ever know. I craved for someone to see my soul, to expose me so I was forced to face myself. I felt you wrap yourself around me. I felt you say that this is what you wanted, and that I should be at peace with your decision.
Four years later, I publish my writing, even the hurtful musings that expose my scars. I publish my path to healing from the loss of you.
Now I am a writer, because you sneaked into my room when I was ten years old and discovered something about me that I had yet to discover about myself. Now, you live forever on through my writings in unpublished books, published posts. You live on right here, right now.
I miss you. I love you. I thank you for knowing me better than I knew myself and giving me a gift that has become my breath.
I only wish the life you breathed into me, was enough to sustain your own.