Dear My Heart,
I miss you. Nobody around me seems to mention you anymore; they are worried. Worried for what, I don’t really know. Maybe because the sound of your name might send me into another crying fit, or that the reminder of your absence might scar me more. As if I could forget the silence of home without your laughter, ringing through it at the most random of moments, as if I could forget the pain of knowing that you will never come back home, never graduate, never know love. I wish they would talk about you. Then I would know I am not alone, that they still remember you too. But they refuse to even acknowledge what happened to you. They have resorted instead to removing all traces of you from our home, so much so that I wonder sometimes whether you were ever truly there at all. Your pictures are gone, your old trophies are gone, you are gone. And nobody remembers how cruelly you were ripped from existence, torn away from your hopes and dreams for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had life been fair, your killer would have been tried for murder. You and every other innocent victim that had nothing to gain and everything to lose. I wish I could avenge you, I wish I could send your killer behind bars. It might bring me some peace at last. But I cannot, simply because I do not know how to prosecute a war. The war that killed you is so far out of my reach that even the idea of avenging you seems more and more like a fairytale designed for kids. Even in the haze of pain and anger, I know I cannot possibly hold your killers accountable: they hide so skillfully behind their golden desks and illusions of greater good. But I want you to know that I will never forget. And I will never stop fighting for you. I remember you. I miss you. And I will fight for you until my very last breath.
Wherever you are, I love you.
Rita