6.

I thought that turning eighteen would be empty, cold and scary. It was not like that, though. But was different; at a certain point I was just wondering how if you could be here with me. Even if I just close my eyes and you would be here with me. But it is not the same. I couldn't give my eyes, the window of the soul, sureness about anything. I don't know how to escape this solitude, the greatest of all, the hardest, the personnal, the Solitude.
I am at home, I feel at home, I feel good.
But inside me I know that now this is not the only one. That I have one with a basement and a second floor, that I have a big kitchen and a big tv, and that I will have you with me, forever. And that is so real and so unreal. And not fair.

I miss your touch, I miss your talking, I miss your laugh and smile. I miss your soul, James.

for you

Your words you spoke to me, your words you wrote to me, your handwriting your voice.
I see it when I close my eyes I hear it in my head, but it is not the same. You are not here with me. I can’t believe I don’t have you with me, I will only hear your voice when I call you and I will only see your handwriting when you write me a letter. But even then you are not in person next to me. I know you will be strong and I have to be strong too but I never thought about that I will never have you close by.
I’ll come to you even if I have to walk even if I don’t have GAASS I will come.
I want to hug you, embrace you, look at you as a friend as my special friend. With your voice with your handwriting but especially with you!