I could not believe that my first writing for you would be about farewell, about the regret for not being there to console you and doing my best to hold you from falling back. So many lingering questions about why the love I have been giving you turns out to be not enough. I know, I should have never let go of your hands when you said you needed time to think. I should have never thought of allowing you to walk down your path alone because you believe you have made mistakes.
Darling, being alive has never been a mistake. Living in the moment to make as many memories as possible has never been a mistake before. But, why now, it suddenly is? Why now, being a teenager seems so wrong for many people?
You have always held my hand when I lost faith in life. Shared with me the dreams that now I hold on to so tight because that was the last thing you asked me to do. The flower you left has now withered, losing its entire leaf due to the unbearable fear of forever having you out of my reach.
Now that you really are out of my reach, where do I have to go?
The love we had, Darling, the house we shared, the dreams we fought for; where do I have to go now? You used to be the reason I have put my faith in for months, to finally be able to witness your return and once again embrace you as soon as you come back home. You used to be the person I waited so much for so long, whose name I carved in each of my prayers wishing you would show up at the front door the moment I opened it.
Where do I have to go now?
I am hurt, I am broken, I am torn into pieces. Where do I have to go now? Where do I have to carry all the guilt weighing on my chest for not being able to stop you from leaving?
I used to hold these dreams, with my bare hands, I carried all the memories you left me to take care of until you finally came back. But, Darling, I think my grip has started to lose its faith, it is no longer as tight as the last time I saw you leaving with a smile.
You asked me to wait — at the bus stop, you said you would wave your hand when you arrived with the stories you stored for months to share and to together laugh at, with the warm hugs and kisses that I have been longing for so long. At the bus stop, you said you would see me again with a smile and a chest that would not feel heavy anymore.
So, Darling, out of everything, why is it my hand that you let go of? Why does it have to be you to give up?
Why does my heart start to ache so bad now that you will no longer be around? Is it because the time we had was not enough, or is it my love for you that turned out was never, ever enough?
