Grief, as Saliou has heard, comes in stages. But that's a lie.

What he felt weren't in stages; they came to him like an enormous wave that rammed into his very soul, out of nowhere. It came to Saliou in the middle of a busy day at work, as he stood in the fruit aisle of a supermarket, as he showered.

He would always wonder how the hell anyone can manage to move on with their life when something so tragic has happened. It's as though something had sucked out everything he has - his heart, his mind, the air he breathes, his entire being.

Milou's death left a gaping hole in Saliou's heart that can never be filled. He reacted to the loss of his twin brother in the same way he had to Wren's subsequent departure from his life. But with Milou's death, the devastation was far more severe. The depression he plunged into after his brother's death lasted for many years.

For a long time he didn't speak to anyone in person nor on the phone, for fear of breaking down. He was willing to communicate only with his parents, sometimes with Wren, and with his niece, whom he personally nicknamed 'Flo'.

Over the years, Saliou would find himself rereading Milou's final text messages to him. And then he'd feel relieved. They were just text messages. Nothing ominous or foreboding about them.

Yet each time he read them, Saliou would be lured back to that fateful day. His heart would ache and then he'd cry. The pain was still fresh, and the memory washed clearly through his mind as if it had happened just yesterday.

Although the circumstances were emotionally difficult for him, nothing in those messages prevented Saliou from regarding them as no more than a final communication to Milou. They were special, simply because they were the last.

Sometimes, however, that sense of relief would be mixed with disappointment.

Was this all? Wasn't there more to my brother's final moments than telling me to drive safely on my way home?

It seemed insufficient. There were no grand last words. There was no final advice. Milou hadn't shown he was going to die, of course, but still...

Thankfully, some days he'd be able to find reprieve from all the heartache. In fact, it's one of the biggest amazement of the human heart. The kindness of it as it allows you a few hours or days where you feel everything is seemingly picture-perfect.

Saliou can manage to smile, to laugh, to prepare himself a meal, to play with Flo. He was allowed to feel fine sometimes, and he thanked his heart for giving him a break from the horrifying reality.

But what haunts him more than anything, is the thought of the fear Milou faced alone during his final moments. His twin brother looked death in the eye so suddenly, and it never let up. It came to him and he dealt with it so defenselessly. He wasn't even given a moment to call out for help. To say goodbye.

It was beyond Saliou. His guilt that his brother, who he was supposed to protect his whole life, would suddenly wake him up at night, in the form of panic attacks.

It destroys him. And whenever he sees his parents sobbing like wounded animals at Milou's grave during their monthly visits, he knows it destroys them, too.

Yet anybody else's pain and grief would never come close to what Saliou felt in all those years. After all, he's the twin brother that survived.

Perhaps nobody else understood this, but the bond shared by twins can be addictive. Much more powerful than a bond between an Alpha and Omega.

Saliou's relationship with Milou was both competitive and symbiotic - they were each other's best friend and archenemy.

Saliou hadn't realized it until now, but he and Milou have constantly fought to assert a personal ego, while at the same time reinforcing their affection towards one another - two identical halves that made an essential whole. Together they have reinforced their similarities; their loyalty and interdependence.

When one looks in the mirror, they would see each other.

But in losing his twin brother, Saliou had to face the severing of the most powerful bond. All of a sudden he was faced with daunting questions: Who am I without Milou? Will I be able to survive?

Because on the other side of that spectrum of mutual understanding and deep knowing, lies a dark shadow: dependence toward the other and the fear of being perpetually alone. Milou's sudden death certainly plunged Saliou into a deep, dark well of depression and loneliness.

In the second year after Milou's death, Saliou's depression was at its peak. He would look in the mirror and still see his twin. It came to a point where he felt more Milou than himself.

And so, he tried to "starve" Milou away, rid himself of his brother's likeness in an attempt to retrieve himself. On top of shedding several pounds, he had grown out his hair and dyed them a deep shade of brown. Anything, just to make him forget he's ever had a twin.

However, his primal need for his other half and that corrosive guilt for letting Milou slip through his fingers, would always throw him back to punishing himself, to exist as Milou.

It came to a point where he nearly ruined his own life. Drugs for pain turned into dependence and abuse, and suicidal thoughts came close to attempts.

The power of that twin bond equaled survival for Saliou. If his relationship with Milou and his will to live weren't strong enough, it could have meant suicidal death. But despite that gray filter over his world, Saliou chose life.

Saliou followed the urgings of his parents and initially sought to please Milou by pursuing a career goal he never had passion for. In the end, it only made him feel twisted and unhappy inside. Sticking to it any longer than he already did, could have worsened his depression.

Saliou remembered how happy he was, after previously feeling so detached and out-of-place with his career in accounting, when he finally made the decision to pursue his true longing to be an artist. Clearly, he was born with an artistic soul and his path in life is the pursuit of art. But a true artist can't pursue his art halfheartedly, just as any true lover can't love halfheartedly.

After working for five years as an accountant, Saliou took a huge leap and began working as a curator at the Art Gallery of Glapshire. He tried to rectify the lack of attention Glapshire paid to its local art community. At the same time, this new career gave him the chance to completely reinvent himself.

For thirteen months, Saliou's artistic path was firmly set in the exploration of black - in pastels and charcoals and lithography. Later on, however, he enthusiastically embraced color through gouache painting. It was then when the local art scene began to notice his works and soon enough, Saliou was participating in solo and group exhibits in and out of Glapshire, which had become his second home.

Indeed, Saliou found healing through art. But he realized there's still no separating art from the loss he experienced. Milou's death will forever be engraved in his heart and what he was going through translated into his art. He wasn't afraid to let his feelings show in his creations.

And then there's little Flo.

She'd been the only girl in both the Matisse and Dumont families - the light of everyone's life.

For Wren Dumont, being a single parent and raising a daughter alone had been hard going at first. But with Saliou's help, he was able to navigate through the difficult transition to fatherhood with far less hurdles.

Wren moved himself and Florence into the neighboring state of Idomouth, just half an hour away from Glapshire. Florence grew up quietly with her Dad, and with the guidance of her Uncle Sal.

Saliou, on the other hand, was every bit his brother's keeper. After completing his lease on his old apartment, he moved closer to the school Florence would attend when she reached school age. He brought her up with great care and looked after her the way a loving mother would.

For Saliou, watching Flo grow up changed things for the better. He became her mother figure, though he never once tried to replace Milou. Indeed, he raised the child like she was his own daughter. He knew that's what his brother would've wanted. And in the process, he would constantly remind Flo just how much her mother had loved her.

Days become weeks; weeks become months; months become years.

It's been seven years since Milou passed. But Saliou still misses him, still loves him, still wishing he could get it all back. But the world moved on and other events and changes in his life took precedence over old memories.

Saliou wanted to be selfish, wanted to completely move on and be fully over it by now. But he's not. At least, not absolutely.

But unlike in the past, he no longer reminisced in the course of a normal day like he used to. He may still feel a little disconcerted inside, but now he can manage to smile.

Outwardly, he has moved on. In his heart and soul, he knew something good is bound to come soon just to even out the tragic past. He kept watching, he kept waiting for it.

And then, finally, it came...