My first memory was me laughing with him.
He’s been around so much.
He’s like a watch to me, only when I take a bath he’s not around.
“You look good.”
I laugh because I know he is telling the opposite.
I laugh because I know no cancer patient that going to be dead because they can’t find lung donor looks good.
“I feel like crap. Give me another morphine.”
“You’ll dead of OD, idiot.”
He just keep looking at me while I’m coughing, feeling my lungs is tearing.
This is a moment.
This is a moment whether I’m going to feel remorse of not living my life the fullest, or I’m going to die feeling content.
This is a crucial moment.
I laugh, “Life’s suck.”
He’s just staring at me. Now he evert his eyes, voicing this sentence as quiet as he can,
“I don’t think mine is.”
He is back staring at my eyes again, “Don’t us always have a crazy drink every time life fucking with us?”
“Ha ha.. hell yeah. I really wish we can have another toast.”
That’s it, I’m crying, over the fact I can’t have another drink with my best friend, over the fact I’m going to be dead in a minute, over the fact how lame my own organ about to kill me, over the fact I don’t deserve cancer, but then he open his mouth,
“We will have another toast, right?”
He is longing, not looking at my eyes.
There is a hidden expression of seeing an altar on it,
His eyes worshipping mine, his lips smiling at me,
I know, I understand, and so he tell me,
That is pair of eyes loving.
That is a hand gesturing sadness in happiness,
That is a sentence encouraging braveness,
That is a smile I need to look to.
That is a smile that stating my last memory is something beautiful, as something filled with hope.
This is a smile that telling me I’ve achieve everything great while I’m alive, a smile that telling me I’m won over this illness, I’m greater than anything, I’m brave, I’m going to have another toast with him, another drink on our next life.