A friend of mine died today. I don’t know the cause of his death. I don’t even care if he was killed or if he had a natural death. If it was not a natural death, I can’t even judge if he deserved it or not. I just know that he is dead. I intend to grieve for him when I write about his death. If grieving means crying for his loss or even empathising with others who are feeling sad about his loss, I don’t think I understand the meaning of grieving as you do.
We shared everything in the few months that I have known him. When I meant everything, I mean every thing, including my bed. We did not talk much when we were together, but I wanted him to entertain me when I could not think of keeping myself occupied. I was one of his prized possessions. I knew he loved me. Especially my fingers all over him.
He did love me when he was close to me. He never called himself a man of words; fear overflowed from his eyes. He never understood me fully. None did; it rarely mattered anyway. He listened to my seemingly disconnected uttering. But now- now- he is not here.
No, he has not left a vacuum within me. I just miss him, like I missed my schoolfriend when I went to college. It was inevitable. So is this. But I remember giving him a huge chunk of my time and energy when he was not around- as if desperately catching hold of that dry branch floating in that deep river when I was drowning. Now, I don’t think it was worth it.
This friend of mine taught me many things in those few months. Not an entirely new chapter, but lessons, nevertheless.
Now, he is dead. Death is a reward only pleasing to the dead and his enemies- well mostly, I guess. Now that he is dead, his memories are no good. They don’t keep me alive in this mundane living.
I shall grieve no more for my dead laptop.