I do not know what went inside our heads when we became fascinated with eulogies. Perhaps it came along with our fascination for Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters’ and the fault in our immaturities way back in college. You once told me that you would write me a eulogy when I die. And it’s funny how my naïve mind was very flattered with your seemingly sweet gesture.
I wonder why we fascinated ourselves with eulogies and death possibilities. Perhaps, it was the idea, the entertaining thought, of the possible reaction of each other’s death. We were morbid. But lo, we were nineteen.
And nineteen was the age of folly.
I see your photographs every now and then. You seemed happy with all of your new friends and new shirts. I used to know every shirt you owned and every pair of janoskis and shades of vans slip-ons. We used to exchange our thoughts about gumsoles and sleek haircuts and the absurdity of human body-odor.
Today, I had a conversation with you. And it has been a long time since we last talked. Our conversations the past year were nothing but brief exchanges of “what’s up” and “how’s life.” Be honest, it was not like before. We talk lame now. Our discourses are all dead and stagnant. I never thought we’d run out things to talk about. I used to believe in that.
I remember that time you told me about your dream about me falling down the staircase. You told me how hard you tried to catch me. Oh, how hard you tried, but you were too late- and I died. You told me the next morning how you woke up from your dream screaming with sweat streaming down your pretty face. You thought you lost me. As a reaction to your story, I made an annoying laugh at your dream and told you how dreams and nightmares are made of the things you’d always think about. I made an annoying laugh because I was too young to accommodate the fact that I did matter to you.
It’s been a year and a half devoid of you. I’ve come to a point that I no longer recognize the chasm that was once here because of your absence. Everything is calloused, scabs everywhere. We have grown apart and we have grown within.
So I take this time for the remembering. And also, for the accepting of how we are now so separated by time and space that I no longer recognize the once strong stable connection.
I’m taking the initiative to write this eulogy for the two of us. And here, I will recognize what was once here that is now gone. I will recognize the old story of two broken souls and how they both made painkillers out of people.
I am writing this eulogy for you and me.
Farewell, bygone. You were beautiful.