The Lost (Last) Words is dedicated to all those that have lost loved ones in the past and to all those that will lose someone, some day in the present and future, such is the only certainty of life.
He wrote of words he wished he had said. He wrote the words he now could no longer say. He wrote all the difficult words that were now far too easy. He wrote the easy words that had now become so difficult. He wrote fluently. He wrote passionately. He wrote furiously. He described in perfect detail every indescribable moment. He remembered and wrote every forgotten memory in vivid colours. He wrote all the words that made him happy, the words that made him shine. He wrote all the words that made him choke, that made him panic, that tightened his chest, the words that made him breathless. He wrote the words that kept him up at night, the words that broke his heart and those very words that would fix it again. He wrote the words that meant nothing and everything to him at the same time.
He wrote of all his childhood memories and how grateful he was for them. He smiled when he described the times he was lifted, tickled and spun towards the stars. He described the hopes that kept his eyes bright in darker times. He whispered in magic words the secrets he had hidden for the longest time. He recalled the memories of courageous smiles and beautiful laughter in the times of greatest sadness. He remembered silly moments that were hilarious for no good reason. He drew a tin-can opener, a bunch of red straws and a fishtank with a submerged shoe swimming happily along with the confused fish. He now held onto the moments of tenderness and togetherness with a description of the warmest hug that he could no longer feel.
He wrote of the saddest days that had no warmth. He wrote of the times he hid under the bed and cried in his own darkness. He remembered looking for the light, staring at the night and being overwhelmed in solitude.
He described his regrets, his mistakes, his follies. He apologised for them. He apologised for not listening. He apologised for not understanding. He apologised for arguing without reasons. He apologised for not being the best he could have been. He apologised for raising his voice. He apologised for apologising. He apologised again then asked for forgiveness somehow.
He wrote the passion of his love. He described flying with birds and soaring under a blazing sun. He described the vast landscapes of the world he had seen and how it would never end. He recalled how it ended. He wrote about crashing to the ground and the time he dented the car door in the oncoming smash.
He analysed all that he had squandered. He calculated how much he owed and asked how it would be possible to pay back all that was given to him by the love of others. He promised he would learn. He promised he would listen. He promised to stop breaking promises.
He described his wishes for the future and the steps he would take, however backward, he would go forward. He wrote all the words for the very last time. He drew a star, a moon and a boy waving goodbye.
He folded the letter once. He folded it twice. He folded it thrice and unfolded it again. He reread it, gasped, panicked, threw it away, picked it up and re-folded it again. He took the deepest breath and on one side he sealed the words with a kiss and on the other, a falling teardrop. His tears became the rain and the rain became his tears. He placed the last words on the freshly dug wet ground, he placed the lost words in his broken heart, he whispered his goodbyes and walked away.
