Writing when you don’t know what to write… is the best title I could think of for this post, simply because it best describes my current hair-pulling-while-I-force-myself-to-compose moment.
October 2020 my bestfriend died, I remember waking on a Sunday morning, reading the update and staring blankly before shedding tears. Not even sure if bestfriend is the best term I could use for her. How do I say this: she’s more me than I could ever be, she doesn’t read minds, but she knows what’s happening in mine.
In some other life I could have been her, and she could’ve been me.
She died of breast cancer, and I don’t want to romanticize this in any way. February 2020, before the lockdowns started, I was able to meet her one last time. And I remember how she narrated an outline of events; how she experienced pain, how she worked through it, how it came to a point where she noticed bleeding. How she said: “It’s important to have the will to live.“
I had questions for her then, and still more now.
She was soft-spoken then, relaying everything, and I can still imagine her in the same way, up to the present.
I wish her love, peace, the universe and the stars.