I lost a friend to sickness.
The regret that lingers isn’t only about losing him; it’s about not being there at his last moment.

A week before he passed, I visited him. We talked, and I promised I’d come again the following week. I meant it. But that morning, I fell sick myself and couldn’t go. I told myself I’d visit after I got better. That day never came.

I know, deep down, that things happened the way they were meant to. Still, a part of me keeps replaying that promise. If only I had made a little more effort. If only I could’ve been there to say goodbye, to hold his hand, to keep my word.

Today would’ve been his birthday. Wherever you are, my friend, I miss you so much. I wish you were still here so I could send you random, absurd messages like I used to. But I know you’re no longer in pain. I wish you rest in love, surrounded by colorful flowers in a garden of peace, under a light that never fades.

And to anyone reading this, have you made any promises lately? Maybe it’s time to keep them while you still can.