I remember experiencing your past. 

 

Through the stories, you have told me.

 

I remember being there.

With you, 

when a doctor cut off your umbilical cord.

 

I recall the moment of your childhood, 

When we played with neighbor kids. 

Your first time peeing in bed.

 

I remember laughing but the next day it happened to me as well.

We both carried our wooden swords when walking in the meadows.

I can still see you stepping into a cowshit.

 

Summers in countryside.

 

Awkward family gatherings, 

they kept on asking who we will become when we grow old.

 

I remember you wanting to be a doctor and me a dancer.

Then later I urged to be a doctor and you wanted to be a musician.

 

I bought a guitar for you.

 

The next summer you already played a ballad about stars.

I danced in the meadows.

 

I remember you getting your first pimple and me seeing my body change.

I started wearing a bra and you started smoking.

 

Do you remember my parents starting to fight and me running away for the first time?

I recall our conversations about adults being always busy.

 

Later you got your first job.

We celebrated in the meadows.

Our families were proud of you.

 

I started painting on the times you would work.

 

I remember us hiding our cigarettes,

running to smoke over concrete corners.

 

I remember you looking concerned.

 

You became more silent.

 

Last summer you forgot to take your guitar.

Meadows seemed more still.

 

Our gaze changed.

Next morning you chopped the head of a chicken.

 

I remember the first time I became scared of silence.

Something was changing.

 

We would not swim naked anymore.

Would not sleep in one bed.

Wouldn’t share the same spoon.

 

Slowly we were fading apart.

 

I remember you started to drink all sorts of booze.

Later being admitted to the hospital.

 

I did not dare to visit you.

 

I was afraid of the silence and screaming walls.

I fell into the world of fantasy and soon enough was found in the same ward.

 

We did not recognize each other.

 

You seemed older, though we were born at the same time.

We carried the same name but you made a new one.

 

I felt heartbroken and left.

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Before flying, I went to the meadows.

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I could still hear our laughter and your guitar notes.

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I cried.