I wish that August would never come. It was the month you left.

That summer you were so sick and eventually, life was fading away from you like light after the sunset. The doctors would speak kindly, but defensively, saying, “You have had five years.” Yes, five hard years, a blessing and a curse.

Although I could see your spirit still burned to live, and never stopped yearning for more, you died gracefully, bravely, like a man.

I have stumbled through many dark days without you. All my joys are muted because I cannot share them with you

Together, we faced every hard thing in life, and we gave each other courage. Eventually, I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones as long as you were beside me.

To make you proud, I will try to learn on my own.

Prosery: Walcott’s Dark August