by Liliana Misita

Created on: June 11, 2008

Despair?

Is that the word I was looking for - despair... or is it just an uncertain way to describe that indescribable feeling of enormous loss that have happened the day you died.

'' It was five o'clock when death was seeding your wounds, that unforgettable five o'clock''.

It was five o'clock in the afternoon when you died on the street. Your daughter, an angel aged two, was dancing in her new yellow flowery skirt, dancing and laughing with me when I heard the news. The news that was not meant to be herd, ever.

You were also wearing yellow, that was the color of your bike and although I know that you use to think yourself that you are indestructible, it obviously wasn't so. Hit by a bus. Simple as that. The truth is usually simple, but it is none the less cruel. Dead on the spot with broken neck, ruptured lungs, and ruptured arteries. Simple facts, simple truth. Simple for whom?

Your wound burning like newborn suns inside of me.

You newer come back, but your blood soaked close did. Your faceless blood came back to us. To us who are left to remember you, to live without you for ever and ever and a day more.

And we do so, we live, but in which reality I cannot tell. Your daughter believes that you went high up in the sky to make a star that will shine just for her. I have told her that story, maybe it was not the best one but it was the only one I could think of at the moment. Now she looks up at havens waiting for her star, waiting for you, and I hide my face when tears come, tears that bring no solace.

In what I should believe, who will tell me stories before I go to sleep, without you, forever without you. Who will comfort me in countless years in which I will have to explain your death over and over again?

Your death, it is like a bone stacked in my throat, I cannot swallow it no matter how much I try. I cannot spit it out and forget about it, it is stuck within me, your death, and your speechless ''Good buy''.

Deep inside of me I have come to the barrier, to the closed door for which I have no key. Closed door behind which our dreams, our future use to lie. Your death is like a mountain of time and ice and sorrow. I cannot fly over, it neither go trough it, nor forget it....for ever and ever and a day more.

I am left with your death like a lover with a last, cherished, unforgettable present. You are berried deep, deep inside of my soul, in the place when no one goes with open eyes.
Knowing that there is no hope, solace, or kind word which could help me live, live this earthly life without you.

Yet I am somehow alive and I am now writing this, words crawling under my fingers, senseless words since there are no means to describe what I feel in any known human language.
As if it matters now.
As if it meters to anyone but me.

All I want has become impossible in one instant.
All I want is for you to be alive and here, to hear me say I love you one more time.

IN MEMORIAM TO:
NENAD IVKOVIC
Died: Jun 06. 2008.

Learn more about this author, Liliana Misita.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.