I wish to hold your hand one more time. I wish to brush your hair one more time. Or maybe wash your face. I know you wouldn’t let me wash your face because I remember how you loved to do wudu two hours before fajr prayer. Or how you’d ask me every other hour if it’s time to pray yet.
One can only wish.
I wish to remind you my name before eating breakfast. I miss how you’d refuse to eat before mother.
I miss how you used to ask about my morning. And just by looking at my face, you’d know if anything is up with me.
I’m sorry that I didn’t spend a lot of time with you. I was too busy thinking that we’d have all the time of the world and you’d get better. I thought we’d make up for all the years.
I’m mad at myself that I don’t have stories about you. The only thing I can clean and maybe wash now is your shoes.
As I look at the scuff marks on your shoes. I wonder how the world treated you. If it was good to you.
May God have mercy on you.