I remember you more than you were. Does that make sense? Three years, tops. Fighting something that kept you from maturing. The back and forth between well and not so.
The attitude mostly. How you never let anyone get away with being superficial. How you took pleasure in calling bullshit.
Others looked at you and saw weak. Frail. Sickly. They saw with eyes that had not seen all that much beyond what was fed to them. Shadows on a cave wall. But you turned your head and saw it all. The looming end and the light.
I did not know you when it came. I imagine there was pain. Moments you did not enjoy but endured. Perhaps it is best. I would not have been strong enough to watch that. To be so unable to help in any meaningful way. I would have had to say goodbye.
I wonder how you would see things today. Understand all this. Would your heart still be large? Would you still embrace the uncertainties and make them your own? See the bullshit and call it, in spite of those who would steer you back to some black and white thing they call reality?
I like to think not.
And that makes me miss you even more . . .