It hurts to think back on it.
That’s why we all pretend like nothing happened. Since that day, after those tears, your mother’s screams, our clean shirts.
That heavy weight that was there and now seems to be gone. Don’t get angry about it.
You were the best. And that’s all we knew, since you never talked about yourself. You laughed and had fun, always.
You took everything. The girls, our admiration, the cigarettes without asking behind the desk. The first to arrive and the last to leave, as if our outings were yours. As if you owned every moment. Indeed, I don’t believe it was an accident. I think deep down you decided, as always.
I think you were tired of us, of everything, of the world. Like a fallen angel that can’t even stand himself anymore.
See that it hurts? It hurts that I didn’t tell you everything. That I didn’t have the courage to talk to you, to stop you.
That I didn’t understand anything. About you.
