He does not exist anymore, except in my imagination. Memories arising when I least expect them. Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of him and I feel such a fondness. I wish I could spare him the pain I know he’ll experience. But I also know the love he will as well. The amazing things he’ll see, the adventures he’ll have.
At the same time, I, who has experienced all that he will, I so often forget the lessons. So I write. A guide, perhaps, to the future. To the self that I will one day look back to and nod, knowing. Smiling.