My best friend died seventeen days ago.
I was strong. I was the lone strength in my family.
I mustered my muscles and carried his body to its destination.
And laid him down.
I paid the fees associated with death.

And I walked away.
Strong.


But in the last moments of seeing him being carried away,
My father reached out to feel his hair one last time.
Fourteen years of life, and this was goodbye.

I broke after that.
I let it out, all of the sobbing, the retching, the mourning.
My face was wet, my heart was wet.


And then I grew strong again.
I threw on my face of man,
And walked the world again.