Half my life ago, my late grandfather had to bury the love of his life.

Ta'burnee, I had heard him say it to her once. He told me it literally means "You bury me."

I saw the sentiment of the phrase on his face as he leaned over her still body, touching his lips so gently to her wrinkled forehead, ever so careful not to let a tear drop onto her.

How could he let her last moments with him be showered with his sadness? Only love, he had promised himself.

You bury me.

God willing, I would rather go before you because I know I would not survive without you. You bury me because I love life, and it is not life without you.

What good are my eyes if I am not able to see you anymore? I would go deaf if I am not able to hear your voice. I would not feel, or smell or taste. My life would be reduced to a purpose of existence, an existence so light, it is empty.

You bury me because I am not strong enough to endure the pain of being incomplete.

You bury me because I need you more than you need me. Because even though I've gone, I will always be with you. I will always look after you.

You bury me because I cannot stay without you. I don't want to stay without you.

See me off after our life together. With no regrets, my love. See me off with our love for each other, and please love me still. God willing we will see each other again.

So you bury me, love.

Half my life later, as we buried him we hoped they have found each other again.

"Give what you wish to receive."

I've clawed out of a hole
and bitten myself to stay
in the light.

Sometimes I wonder
if you were supposed to keep some
for yourself?

Or else you would have been left empty.
Just a shell.

No longer someone,
merely a name

That everyone will forget.

...suddenly having a blade between my fingers. I suddenly saw blood ooze out so slowly into beads that then trickle down my arms. Too many lines down the inside of my arm to even begin to count. The blood makes it harder.

...crying, but I can't remember over what exactly. Everything had melded together into one big swirl of emotion, a non-thought in my head. A smog of confusion. A tingling in my fingertips and I dropped the blade.

...feeling a sort of awe as I see a tear drop onto my arm, into the mess of blood. And I see the colour run, diluted. I bit my lip, wondering if I had really meant to get this far. It wasn't much of a fear of death, but a feeling of loss of life. Of a life I used to dream of achieving.

...my mother's tears when she helped to clean the blood away. The redness of my brother's eyes as he watched quietly. I remember seeing raw red lines on my pale skin. How quiet my brother was when he patched me up.

...how my mother hadn't gotten angry, but instead and for once, she seemed to see my struggle all those times. She seemed to understand what I really needed then. She held my hand. She might have said something but I didn't hear her. I wouldn't have remembered because everything that really needed to be said was in her hands, in her arms when she hugged me. I remember how my brother had put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my hair. I remember how that was the first time they saw the side of me that I had been struggling with for years.

I remembered this moment today, thinking of how it had been a little over three years. Thinking of all the ways I was saved.

I call you Midas, like the king with the golden touch.

A gift to turn all you come into contact with into prizes of gold, like you do. In simple gestures of smiles and laughter, that lifts the atmosphere, and brightens the gloom. In the mean determination to turn your work into gold. And you do. You have a heart of gold.

You keep your garden of pristine roses away from the world; your most prized possession. A secret, a story, an emotion in every rose. Only you would dare walk through the garden of thorns, knowing they could cut you, knowing every cut was just a revisit to a moment passed. You take a walk through the garden, each time in contemplation or in search of some revelation; each time the garden grew in the number of roses.

A kind heart, of fair judgment, and noble air. A mind to skit across thoughts that need not bother you, and only delve into the deepest that drown you. A heart of gold… and heart hardened like gold. You have touched your own heart to protect yourself.