He was a "friend" of mine.
We truly enjoyed each other's company. The time we spent together was a precious time to me, spent away from the everyday life that was starting to ache my heart and soul.
We genuinely had fun together. It was just us, in the pristine nature, between the forest and the river.
It was our place. No one could ever poison it with their negative thoughts, filled with anger and sadness.
I still go here from time to time.
My grief is unbearable, but somehow this place makes it a little less painful.
It's as if I could still smell his cologne, hear his laugh, feel his warmth in the soil under my feet.
I always go back to Brokeback Mountain, no matter the season, but none can beat summer.
Even in these cold mountains, hearing all this life around me somehow makes him alive as well. Everytime I go here during summer, my thoughts go back to that summer of too many years ago. And although everything is almost perfect, I know that nothing can bring him back.
I think my mind is playing tricks on me.
I still miss him so much. And I can't seem to be able to hold back my tears.
I never heard from his wife since his death, and I don't think I ever will. I feel like I ruined her life.
She truly loved him.
She never admitted it, but she knew his husband's heart belonged to someone else.
He was too much for her. To be fair, he was too much for me too.
I hate myself for his disappearance.
I should've grown out of my terror.
It was that stupid fear that kept me from giving him what he deserved.
He swore love to me and I was too much of a coward to reciprocate it. He tried so hard to forget me, by finding someone else and going physically as far away as he could, but we both knew he never actually managed to forget me.
I know the fault lies on me and, sitting here in this sacred place, I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I just answered 'yes' to him.
He could see a future so bright ahead of us, but I threw it away. As if it was nothing.
I was scared of what the world would've thought of us, but the only world that truly mattered to me was him. He was my entire world, as much as I was his. To this day I still don't get how he went through all these years of me whining about everything without getting sick of me. We fought, that's true, but we never held a grudge.
I hate myself.
I really do.
The only times I didn't feel that way were when I was with him.
The first time we kissed.
The first time we touched each other.
The first time we held hands.
The first time we laughed together.
The first time he spoke to me and told me his name.
Jack fucking Twist.
And as I answered with only my name he made a joke. Something about me not having a surname. Now I know why I didn't say it to him at first.
I hate my surname.
I hate being my father's son, and how I wish I had the courage to marry Jack and finally get rid of that last thing I had left of my father. But I couldn't get rid of that image my father imprinted in my mind in the first place. That was what ruined everything.
I should stop thinking about the past.
It hurts too much.
Jack is dead, and nothing can bring him back.
Perhaps thinking about him is the only thing that can keep the memory of him alive. But that's it.
I wish I could've at least said goodbye to him, but it all happened so fast.
How unfair is it that the love of your life just dies without even bid adieu?
But then again, whose fault is it if not mine?
Fuck me.
It was me who really killed him, not that tire. For twenty long years I slowly murdered him.
I'm no crying man, but sometimes my heart aches so much and I feel so alone that I don't care if I feel big warm tears rolling down my cheeks, as the memories of him flow through my mind.
Breathe.
There's no need to cry now.
He's gone.
There's nothing you can do.
Stop being a fucking brat about it.
Ahh…
The silence is too loud. How come I can't hear anything?
Not the bird singing, nor the wind howling, or the water flowing.
The world had just stopped.
All I can hear is this high-pitched sound.
Although I'm pretty sure it's just me screaming.