it stung like a violent wind, that our memories depend, on a faulty camera in our minds / the last moments

i came to say goodbye to you. as with most other goodbyes, i pray it isn't, it wasn't, the last. chatter steadily filled the room as more people entered. our conversation dissolved into theirs. they were asking me all these questions and i was giving them all these answers, but my gaze was on yours. yours was on things not seen, but most definitely felt. a tear broke free from your right eye and poetically traversed down the lines on your face. you summoned what little strength you had then and uttered the next few words slowly and purposefully.

"shireen. i feel very sad. you are leaving." i wiped your tear away, that precious tear, and told you that i would come back and that i would see you again.

"mmm," your standard reply as you signalled your acknowledgment. it took too much for you to talk these days, i treasured every word you spoke. i treasure every word you speak now.

the truth is, we both didn't know whether that was the truth. the truth is, my heart was breaking through my reassuring smiles. i don't know who i was trying to reassure.

but you let me go anyway and we promised to always say a prayer for each other. i gave you a hug and kissed you. it was time to leave, there were bags to pack and a plane to catch.

i replay this scene over and over in my head now, fiercely clinging onto, protecting, preserving, every moment we shared. time plays tricks on us and memories always seem to blur into one, but i resolve to never forget you.

i walked into a beautiful church the other day. i remembered your words. "light a candle for me whenever you enter a church." the grandeur of the church and the simple candle set alight, it couldn't have been more fitting. our insignificance is, in reality, surrounded by and drenched in divinity. a simple prayer for a beloved grandmother wafted into heaven then. three days later, they tell me you're unconscious and haven't stirred since. yet, there's a quiet calm because i know that heaven is with you in that silence.

but one thing is true and this is for certain. i love you, amama. thank you for everything. you couldn't have been more perfect and you did good. you did great.

i pray these words will somehow reach you. i pray that God preserves your beautiful heart, clothing it with peace and his glorious love, even as your life here slowly fades.

again, i love you. i love you. thank you.