There is no difference. That is, we are all the same. We’re all past fetuses in our mother’s womb, born; we all have eyes, a nose, a mouth, and ears. If you don’t have them, well, lucky you. Then you don’t have to witness the trash, smell the filth, speak senseless accusations, or hear the curses.

Let’s face it; I think we were most happy inside the warmth of our mother, a shelter that has an expiration date. Until we have to come out. That’s when the screaming starts, doesn’t it?

I didn’t always think like this. I only started when you came along. You were just too happy, like everything was more than just fine. I hated that. I took every opportunity to put you down, crushing dreams, slaughtering expectations, killing hope.

Then you were gone.

So I never changed back. Why would I, when now that you left, everything I said actually became true?

When you love something, set it free, and if it’s meant to be, it will come back. You haven’t come yet. I’ll always wait for you. I’ll never face the truth.

I’m writing now. Obviously, it’s hard. I was never good with words, not like you. Remember the time when we were in that argument about happiness, and you told me that story about some kind of cake and how much you liked eating it? It was stupid, incredibly so. But I think that was the time I realized you had a gift.

If God could give me any kind of present, I’d want the thing he gave you. The one where you amaze others with a simple story, and yet, it’s not just simple. It’s so you that everyone listens. You weave your words and interconnect sentences and combine ideas to make one huge glorious mess. I loved that.

I loved a lot of things about you. I knew how much I loved you while you were here, I just didn’t know how hard it is to live without you.

You were so beautiful. It wasn’t in the typical way, either. Anyone would say you looked average, maybe interesting if they were being kind. Not to me. The way the sunlight would hit your hair, it it was at the right angle, you looked like an angel. Glowing, beautiful in everything you do.

 I thought your smile should have been banned. If you smiled at me even once, I would lose it, with my heart fluttering, head aching, and my face longing to return the smile. I wouldn’t return it though, at least, not for a while.

I think the thing that eventually pushed my over the edge were your eyes. Undoubtedly, they were your best asset. All I can remember now is that they were silver, and that they were alive. If you were in the middle of telling me one of your stories, I swear, they would dance, and behind them, I could see the magic happening.

To tell you the truth, I miss you a lot. More than I thought I would. More than what I said when I hugged you goodbye. More than both of us could imagine. I pray that you loved me too, and that you’re missing me right now. No, actually. I hope you don't miss me. Because missing you hurts, and I wouldn't wish this pain on anybody. Certainly not you. 

The time you got angry, do you remember? It was the first time anyone had ever seen you displaying any other emotion other than happiness. I think you surprised even yourself when you blew up at him. I can tell you again, if you don’t remember. I can picture it clearly.

It was all because of me. It happened just after we both made that unspoken, mutual agreement that we were friends, but before I decided that maybe I wanted more. It took us a while for us to get past the teasing stage and move onto supporting each other. It was probably because of me. I thought if you stayed at the first stage, you weren’t actually friends with me. It was better that way.

It’s better if no one is friends with me. It always ends badly anyways. And I told you that, but I got the feeling you weren’t really listening. So, when you walked me home every day before heading to your house, when I finally invited you in one day, it was mostly to see how you’d react.

First you smiled. It was a smile that lit up the whole world. Then you walked very slowly towards my house, savoring every previously taboo moment into the yard of my house. When you finally reached my house, you closed the door behind you, sighed, and yelled up, “Finally! I’m home!” And the house embraced you like it had been waiting for you forever.

Excuse me. I should get back to the proper story. You were mad.

As I was saying, it was because of me. We were in class that one day, and the teacher was once again getting mad at some poor girl who forgot her homework.

The teacher was a bastard. He was picking on kids from the poorer parts of town, and rewarding the rich kids. The ones in the middle, like you and I, he ignored.

We both knew I’d blow up at him someday. He was practically asking for it.

How was that girl supposed to finish her homework when she was busy feeding her siblings and working at her part-time job? When her parents can do nothing but lose job interviews and hit her after too many bottles of Jack Daniels? You know, she eventually got a scholarship to the best university in North America. And she still visits her family, even with all that they have done for her. It’s funny how things work out.

At that moment, the teacher was calling her things no adult should ever call a child. Things no man should ever call a girl. Things so human should ever call another human. But he did. Since he’s not an adult, he’s not a man, and he’s not a human.

So I said something. And that got him even madder. Not at the girl though, at me. And it wasn’t just verbal abuse either. He started hitting. I never cried though. But it still hurt. But you protected me. You’re my hero.

You marched right up to him and asked who he thought he was to have hit me so hard. As an answer, the teacher pulled me off the ground and slapped me on the cheek once more. This time I was really close to crying. But I managed to coax my tears into not running down my cheeks just in time to see you drag the teacher out into the hallway and give him the worst beating he’d ever get. I didn’t know you were so strong.

When you came back, I saw the look of fury change to your normal expression when you helped me off the ground. Right then, I promised to myself to never make you mad again, and if you ever had cause to be mad, I promised I would be there to calm you down.

But I don’t think you’ll be angry like you were then. I bet that you were more hurt by the incident than the teacher. That’s just the kind of person you were always feeling pain, and understanding it.

I wish you could have stayed.

The reason I remember that incident however, wasn’t because you showed your strength. I saw your strength every day, I didn’t need a reminder of that. No, it was because it freed your emotions a bit more. You would allow yourself to get frustrated more often, exhibit your sadness once in a while, and most importantly, you made the first move. Thank God, I thought I’d have to.

It was everything I’d ever want.

I was reading that book. The one you and I liked so much. The Book Thief. I only read it because you thought it was good, and without a doubt, it was incredible. Heartbreaking and soul tearing. And, typical to my nature, I sobbed like a baby at the ending. You came over right away, threatening to punch the guy that made me cry. I showed you the book and asked you to hit the author for me. Sweetly, you said, “Well, that might be a little hard…”

I thought that was really funny. So, I laughed, and you laughed with me, and we were looking at each other, and you were wiping my tears, and…

We were kissing.

Which, in a way, was both the beginning and the end of us, I suppose.

But it doesn’t end until it’s a happily ever after, right? That’s what you always said. I never believed it while you were here. But now that you’re gone, it’s become my religion, what I cling to. I haven’t had my happily ever after yet.

I still need one.