«Tonight I looked at the stars. I didn’t know what I was looking for; maybe your smile, your eyes. I didn’t know what I expected from them; maybe to hear your voice, your laughter.

Tonight I stared at the stars. I saw many shapes and I though of you. I was wondering where their paths led. I was wondering if there was a way to you.

Tonight face to the night sky, I closed my eyes. I stopped looking at the stars. Why? Because I couldn’t hear your voice nor your laughter. I couldn’t find your smile nor your eyes. But this picture gave me more than what I was looking for.

Tonight, behind my closed eyes I touched you. I had a connection with you. I was able to feel you. Yes I couldn’t see your picture in the sky or find my way to you thanks to the stars, but deep down, in a way it’s impossible to prove anything, the night led me to you. Behind my closed eyes I was able to see you. Your bright silhouette. I could see your eyes shine like those stars. I could see your smile as beautiful as the full moon. I could feel your soul near me.

Tonight, I could have slept on that bench, in a park, waiting for you.

Tonight, on that bench, I could have waited to hear your footsteps on the ground.

Tonight, on that bench, I could have waited to hear the wind bring me the sound of your breathing.

Tonight, on that bench, I could have waited the sun to rise.

Tonight, on that bench, I could have waited to feel you sit next to me.»

There was this bench in a park with a direct view of the river crosses the city. Every time we saw each other, it was necessary for both of us to go there and sit down for a few minutes. Often those minutes were transformed into hours. Sometimes the day greeted us and the night said goodbye. Other times it was the opposite, the night said hello and the day goodbye.

Since his death, I wanted to return to this place. It called me for days. At night I dreamed of it. But I never had the courage to go there. Now that he is no longer here, this bench cannot represent anything. It could mean a memory, but even that single thought breaks my heart. So like him who left me, I left this place, this object which was much more than a chest full of memories. It was a part of our lives, and I abandonned it without worrying about the consequences.

As people like to say: it's only when you lose something that you realize how valuable it is. By deciding not to go to our place, I realized how important this bench was to me, whether he was still by my side or not. I realized that I would always need to go to this place, as a person needs to go to the grave of a loved one. I cannot say that this bench represents his grave, but to me it represents the place where I can pay tribute to him. Where I can continue to feel him. Where I can still see him.

So after months of denial, one night I went to our place. I first stared at the dark waters of the river before looking at the opposite bank, wandering my eyes on the glass towers shinning of a thousand colors. Then, when I had the strength to gather all the courage that was still in my body, I sat silently and gently on the bench. Having a lump in my throat, I did not look away from the light coming from the other side. I could not look at the empty place next to me. I could not see the people passing by me. I was paralyzed. Even the stars that called me above my head did not have a chance to meet my eyes. Sitting on this bench I had a mad desire to run away. I could not stand the cold that covered me. I could not stand the emptiness that was getting bigger every second.

That day, I could not stay more than five minutes. The atmosphere had been too stressful and painful for me to stay one more minute. From that day, I decided to return to this bench. From that day, I decided to keep his memory alive.

Whether my eyes are open or closed, I keep seeing him. I see him smiling at the sight of a child playing in the sand or being afraid of the waves during one of our many trips to the sea. I can see that smile again when he told me news that made me proud and happy for him. I can see his joy, his happiness in every place where we left our mark: a bookstore, a cafe, a restaurant, a park, a street, a city. I see him again, his innocent look, being amazed, a smile stretching to the ears. Every day I see the image of his face turning to me, his eyes shining brightly, a smile that I will never see again appearing on his lips at the launch of the fireworks for the New Year we spent on this famous bench. This image will remain forever etched in my memory and in my heart. This December 31st had been the only one he had ever had with his family and friends. It had been the only day he had been able to celebrate the holiday season without having any schedule. That day he never told me but I knew he was happy. That day had been the happiest day of his life.

And sometimes looking at the stars, I can still feel him by my side. I can still hear his voice and his laugh. Sitting on this bench, if I turn my eyes, I can see him, smiling at the moon, being amazed at the sight of the starry sky or the horizon facing him. In those moments, he looked so peaceful. So happy.

Seeing those moments in my head, the most beautiful thing they show and that I could see in his eyes was the strength he had always had to stay alive. Every day I saw his eyes shining with that feeling, making his gaze intense, and yet that light had finally become a lie.

Because I did not only see the good times that I spent with him. I did not only see memories of pure happiness, but also those that had hurt us. Those that showed me his tears for the first time. Those that made me aware of his distress. Those that had been misfortune and hell.

I see those tears again. I hear those cries again. I feel those blows.

If happiness is alive in good times, fear, sadness, doubt, tiredness burn the bad ones.

Yet I do not want to forget the hardships we have lived together and those when we had to be there for each other. Our qualities and our flaws are part of who we are and good and bad times are also part of our lives. To wait until life is only pink, makes us lose ourselves in a word of illusions.

I cannot create his memory under a perfect picture. He was who he was and changing his memory would only destroy him. It does not matter to me if I feel joy or sadness when thinking of him, only the fact that he continues to live in me warms my heart.

Wherever my feet bring me, I see him again. Whether it's his smile or his eyes expressing different emotions. In this city there is no place that lives without a part of his soul.

And every single day my heart screams how much I miss him.