By CRLuismël.
Written while reading.
Before knowing how the story ends.
December 20, 2025.
Today I am reading what you wrote, and I ask myself: would we have been friends if we had met?
Would you have talked to me if you had seen me?
I ask this because I know I would have been insecure—
too shy to approach someone so wonderful, so intelligent.
I imagine I would have been around your age,
perhaps a couple of years older.
But what would I have said to you?
~•~
Would I have begged your father to take his family somewhere safer?
But that would not have changed what was coming.
Would I have asked your mother to treat you more gently?
But some things, unfair as they are, simply have to be.
Would I have asked the people around you to be more patient?
But they were all living their own stories.
Would I have taken your place?
… I am just a coward, and you are a hero
—my hero.
I am not even halfway through your story,
and yet my heart breaks,
because I know how it ends.
You didn’t know.
How could you have known?
From the comfort of my chair, from the softness of my bed,
I try to step into your life to help
—and that is arrogant of me.
I forget that we lived in different times, in different places.
I believe I know things you didn’t,
and yet you knew things I will never know.
I will never truly understand the seconds of your days and nights.
I will never understand what you felt
in every word you wrote.
I will never understand how you lived with such uncertainty—
waiting for everything to be over soon,
yet still holding on to your plans and your dreams.
I am still in the middle of your story,
but I know it will end soon,
as the pages are running out.
And then you will tell me how it was
—
every detail,
seen through your eyes,
heard through your ears,
felt through your heart.
Such a young, sweet heart.
All I can say to you now,
if it matters at all, is:
“perdón, perdón, perdón.”
I just couldn’t be there to comfort you.
How could I?
Luismël
