2- Hello remeber me?

August 18, 2016.

World Change: World I.

For those who are afraid to speak, and can't find the words.

For those who felt embarrassed for not finding the right word.

And above all, for those who didn't have the chance to apologize because time beat them to it.

I'm reading this letter for the third time, written by one of my loved ones a few months ago. I know that idiot was trying to tell me something with these writings, but I can't decipher it no matter how hard I try. Actually, I dare to think that it's the heaviness in the air that clouds my understanding. I need to go to the kitchen to make myself a hot coffee, but my plans are frustrated when I find Maya, my older sister, using the coffee maker. I'm about to turn around and go to my stupid room, but there's this second presence ready to ruin my existence.

"Are you filling your head with nonsense again, Eron?" Maya mutters. Then she turns off the electronic device. "It's been quite a while, huh? Aren't you too old to keep looking for meaning in something that doesn't have any?"

Doesn't she have any tact?

"Think about your own problems before meddling in mine."

I decide to walk through the kitchen in search of an alternative to coffee. I have to rummage through the refrigerator to find a black cola soda. The sugar in this thing plus the caffeine it's made of will probably speed up my mind for a moment and then drain my brain power all at once, but a few minutes of deep thoughts might help me understand that damn letter.

As some time had passed between my response and the search for the soda and a glass to serve it, I thought what I said was enough for my sister to shut up, but it wasn't.

"I can't understand why a Montjoy clings so much to a meaningless memory," she says, and then pours her coffee. "Family is the most important thing, Eron. And you can't change the bond between us."

Family is the most important thing. I'm tired of hearing that phrase every day without reservation. It seems like they have nothing better to say.

They (my parents and my sister) try to include me in the standard picture where all that matters is other people's happiness; the happiness of your surroundings. It's typical to think that you should care about those who, according to the rules of modern society, love you the most. But does sharing the same blood connection create an emotional bond between people? I want to know if I'm the only one who is mistaken.

I don't feel that warmth in my chest that I'm supposed to feel.

But I also don't want to wear myself out trying to make them understand.

"You're right, Maya. Family is the most important thing," I smile, casually. "Do you need anything else? I'll go to my room."

"Need? " She laughs, and her satirical laughter doesn't bode well. "I need you to grow a pair and act like a man for once. I also need you to stop crying. You're twenty-three, Eron, and you have to do more for your life than just cry like a child. Grow up a bit if you want to do us all a favor here."

And there's her emotional comment of the day. Is it worth fighting in a war that you've lost before it even started? No. That's why I'm leaving with my cold soda before I become an "impertinent" person.

Do you have something you want to do?

Once back in my room, I look at the crumpled papers balled up in the corner, next to my piano. I bite my lower lip hard, not caring that it's dry and could break because of the summer.

Is it really there?

I won't lie; I miss it. The reason why my piano is collecting dust twenty-four hours a day, for the past one hundred and eighty-two sunsets, is always present in my soul. Six months have passed, and that memory clings to my mind without any intention of letting go and setting it free. The only thing that persists is this emptiness causing my discomfort.

I enter my respiratory system the aroma of the frigid air and the solitude in one inhalation, before the feeling of being watched rushes in to invade me after such a long time; Something similar to an old shadow eager to wreak havoc on a peaceful day. Then I exhale.

It is not in my plans to think about the reasons why this keeps happening over and over again. I just have to make an effort to forget about it and ignore it. It's no big deal, it's just a matter of time before that strange mystery of my life is revealed. Should I worry about that feeling? No. Whatever happens, it will be something I will go through on my own.

You only think about yourself, Eron.

I can hear the voice of the annoying Maya Montjoy still in my quiet solitude pointing out my selfishness. I don't need to have her in front of me to hear her saying things, I can imagine her voice among my train of thoughts. People call her my "sister" because we are children of the same parents, or rather, one of them. That's how we are intertwined.

The title of friend, for me, has a power superior to that of a blood relative. The former can be chosen and discarded whenever you want, but the stupid blood connection can never be broken, especially when living in an environment where the human tide insists that if you don't have love or appreciation for your blood companion, you're a moron. It's the fault of the ever-present DNA in our system.

To hell with biology and chemistry! Pair of perverse bitches. If deoxyribonucleic acid binds me to a person, they can go wherever they please with that opinion. The bathroom of the most corrupt politician if they think it's better.

I move my pupils towards the ceiling, then to the strategically placed clock on the bedside table. I have to go to university. I also see the letter that I left lying there. In a sigh, I let go of my already battered lower lip.

"The darkness, and the desolate moments don't last forever…" I try to tell myself to convince myself, even though it's just another line among the papers scattered beneath the bed.

In my visual journey, I come across another crumpled, but legible, piece of paper. I can read the question: "Why am I the only one being hurt?"

But what a piece of paper. Now the memory plays like a movie in my mind:

"Is this yours, Eron?" He asked that time while looking at that paper. His gaze emitted a pride that felt so strange to me. What was so special about it? "Will I sing for you if you teach me this song on the piano?"

"Do you want me to bleed out my ears?"

"I would love to hear your voice, friend. I just fear ruining your harmony with me." Yes, those words fit my desires better, but I kept silent and curved my lips into a cynical smile instead.