We played in the sun. Me, Mellita and Michael. For many years we were best friends. There was no one else in the world except the three of us. That's what I thought. I can still hear us laughing. I can smell the sweet scent of morning grass and feel the warmness of the sun on my skin. I can remember all the places where we were together and I can still hear your voices calling my name.
Only difference is that the voices are reaching for me from the shadows.

I never thought that things could change. I never wanted anything to change. We were so free, too free perhaps. For the world to let us stay like that. When I first time heard that Mellita was sick I wasn't afraid. How could I have been when she was still smiling like always? When there was no sign on her what would have told me that it was already too late for her to be afraid. Why didn't they tell me then that she would die? That I would lose someone I love the most. I would have appreciated the truth.

My best friends. Mellita and Michael. Twins. Life without them isn't the same. Days seem to last longer and to be colder. My life has less meaning, it seems. I know that it's not true. I still have value, to someone somewhere. Hopefully.

Mellitas sickness changed our lives. There were less and less sunny days for us to spent together. I started to be afraid. I started to notice that Mellitas smile didn't reach her eyes anymore, I noticed that she tried hard to hide her pain from me and I couldn't understand why. If we were best friends why would she hide that from me? Where was the point? It was the day when Mellita was hospitalized when they told me together that she was dying. That information I had to pull out from them. I forced them to shake off their fake smiles and take me back into the game once again. Game called friendship without secrets. I was the only one participating that game, but I found out that later.

Cancer. How I hate the word. How I hate the feeling it brings when said out loud. How much power just a single word has. I was seventeen when I finally understood that nothing is eternal, that no one would live forever. I was seventeen when I understood the meaning of losing a friend. It was my seventeenth birthday when I lost first of my two best friends. I was two months older when I lost the other one.

That's definitely a birthday I won't forget. I won't forget the look on Michaels face when he came to tell me that Mellita had died that morning. I can't forget the pain I felt, the quilt of not being there by her side. The anger towards Michael for not contacting me earlier. I remember every feeling I felt. Actually I remember every single detail from that day. All the smells, the sounds. Every passing second turning into minute. Every minute turning into hour. Every hour fading into thin air meaning nothing at all because Mel was gone. Those moments are carved into my memory.

Michael changed after Mellitas death. That wasn't a surprise. He had lost half of himself. Sorrow moved into Michaels eyes. Painted a new color into them. I saw him change right in front of my eyes but I wasn't able to help him in any way. There were days when he was just like the before. When he let me talk about Mellita, when he let me mourn her together with him. But most of the time he was like a sleepwalker, a ghost from what he had been. Even though his existence must have been really hard to him it must have been a real devastation to his parents to when they had to find their only son lying dead on his already dead sisters bed. They lost both of their children. I lost both of my best friends. Suicide. There's another word that makes the chills go down my spine.

I should be able to forget or at least forgive but I can't. They left me alone. Without goodbyes, without explanations. Only explanation I can think of is that we weren't that good friends as I thought we were. If we would have been they would have told me. Mellita would have let me be frightened with her and Michael would have told me that he couldn't live without Mellita. They would have told me something at least. Part of me thinks that way. The better part of me wants to think that they wanted to save me from the pain as long as they could. That Mellita wanted to give me all the time she had to see her healty and Michael, well. When I found out that Michael had killed himself I knew somewhere inside me that he had been planning it ever since Mellita died. Somewhere inside of me I knew that he was going to do it and that's the reason why he didn't leave goodbyes. He didn't have to.
I want to think that they loved me and appreciated me as much as I loved and appreciated them.

Now, after five years when I visited their graves for the first time since the funerals I had the feeling that I have to speak out loud of them. That I have to carry on my memories of them instead of keeping them locked inside of me. Five years I have tried to live my life without them. Now I realize that I have to live my life with them, carrying them inside me. I have to let them guide my way. I have to hold that hand which reaches out for me from the dark.
I will forgive. Someday. I will find my way.

Sleep well my loves. Guide my way with wisdom.
Goodbye.

Lunatic