«Behind the window of a big house, in a vast and empty room was a small, high round table on which stood a tin cage. In this cage there was a bird. For some eyes he was just a common bird like a sparrow or a titmouse. For others he was special as rare as a phoenix. Yet, those eyes saw only the animal. Just a flying being.

No matter what the little bird thought or felt, the only thing he had been allowed to do was to see the world through the bars of his cage, without being able to fly freely outside of it, in this world filled with colors. Every day he was flying around in his cage watiting for a silhouette to come and open the little door of the iron prison. Every day he heard voices say that he was safe, that his prison was his paradise. Unfortunately, those voices were only concerned with their words and not with his sorrows. Every day, creating circles in his cage, this little bird dreamed of feeling the wind mingle with his feathers. He wanted to feel the warmth of the sun warm him in the cool of winter. But if behind his closed eyelids he saw those dreams, his eyes wild open, the reality was cold and cruel. He knew that the vision of his freedom will always have as horizon the bars of his prison.

And then one night, after so much hope and suffering, the light came into the cage, leaving only peace to cover the inert body of the little bird, keeping freedom in the darkness of the world.»

I read this text years ago. The first time I saw it, it was written with an almost illegible handwriting on a piece of paper on a pile of books. The first time I read it, I did not want to read it. The first time I read it, it called me and yet I did not pay attention. I read it like any story. I read it as a note that my mother left me. I read it without worrying about its meaning. For me it had been only letters and punctuation.

Today, it is the living trace of his story. Today, with the time that has elapsed and putting the pieces of the puzzle together, I realized its meaning. I realized that the bird of this story was not just any bird. He was neither a sparrow nor a phoenix. I realized he was the bird of his story.

For months I was angry at him for not having left us a letter, a note telling us his reasons. For months I was angry at him for leaving us without answers. Today, I realize that he has left the clues under our eyes for many years. Today, I realize that we were the ones who paid no attention to him or his environment.

Finding again this piece of paper as I pack his things, re-reading his words, analyzing his feelings, it's a year after his death and years after his descent into hell that I can finally see the truth behind the lie. In the past, I have seen him so many times smile before the eyes of the world pretending that everything was fine. Every day I heard him assure everything was fine, that each day he got up was a good day. Not once in the past years I heard him say he was having a bad day. I listened to his laughter echo in the air without being able to notice his tears. It was only by re-reading this story that I realized that everything had been falsity. It was while re-reading this story that I realized that he had tried to send us a call for help. It was while re-reading this story that I realized that it was certainly not the only call for help that he sent to us. Unfortunately, today, it is already too late to go back in time.

But although time has passed, it has given me enough help to realize that the feelings I felt after his death were neither against him nor against myself. For a year it helped me open my eyes; as much about the condition of my best friend, who lasted much longer than it should, but also the whole situation after his death.

So after so much time trying to understand his act and the reasons behind it, I forgot to take care of myself. After so much time, I forgot that he had hurt me too. After so much time, I realized that there was not only his pain, but mine as well. Perhaps he was suffering when he lived, but when he left he put his pain in my heart. It took me a while to understand that. I think that's why I was angry at him. I was angry because he made me feel a feeling that I had never asked to feel. I was angry because I felt that he had abandoned me. But I think I was more angry at myself than at him. I was angry because I blamed myself for not being able to help him. For not having seen his distress. For not hearing his cries. I felt guilty for his suicide. I believed for so long that if I had known that his heart was bleeding, then maybe I could have done something. I thought that such a thing was possible. I blamed myself so much about all of this. To have been blind.

Today, I understand that even if I had the ability to see his misfortune I certainly could not help or even save him. Today, I understand that nothing that has happened is my fault. I understand that my anger was justified. I understand the feelings that I have felt. Today, I finally understand the situation. Today, I am finally at peace with this event. Today, I understood it. Although I do not know all the reasons, I understand his reasons, whether they have been said or remain silent forever. Today, I can forgive him. Today, I can mourn and start moving forward.

Today, I know that I do not have to regret the past. I know I do not have to look at our memories with tears in my eyes and my face tense with sadness. I now know that I can look far ahead, because I am finally aware that his memory will never leave me. I cannot promise it will not fade from time to time, but in my heart, in my soul, it will continue to live, whether my mind forgets it or not.

Today he will live not only in the form of a memory, but also through me. Today, I have to live for him.

The world of the living did not allow him to find peace. Where he is today, I hope he has finally found the peace he has sought on Earth. Where he is, I hope he smiles and is happy. Where he is, I hope he breathes again.

I just hope he's fine now.