I hope this will meet you well. We had not spoken in some months before the incident. Often I wonder if that was intention on your part, or poor friendship on mine. The latter is more likely, I think, when so many signs are so retroactively glaring. I miss you more than I could ever convey.
I still don’t understand, I wish you’d spoken to me. I wish I had been listening harder. You always used to complain about me oversleeping. I don’t sleep at all these days. There’s always your face floating in the dark.
In those last moments, I don’t know if I’m dreaming it, Rekha, but I felt your hand squeeze to mine as if you didn’t really want me to let go. I didn’t want to let go. If I had been any stronger, physically, if you could have held on just a few moments longer, it might have been alright. We’d be drinking hot chocolate again.
I can’t go near that fucking kitchen anymore.
I miss you, a lot, anyway, and I hope you receive this message and that you’re okay and surrounded by friends. We never talked about religion, but I found your blog last week. An accident. I’ve come here, because it sounds like that’s what you would have wanted. I’m Hellenic myself. We could have shared a lot more than we did, and I’ll always blame myself for that.
I love you.