Â鶹Éç

He still visits me.
Once every year on 4th March.
His, and my, birthday.
I want to touch him, to hug him, but he says that's impossible. He says if i tried, then he'd never speak to me again. Mainly because i'd be dead. I asked him what he would do without me. He told me that he'd die. He'd die without news from mama and papa and little lucy. They couldn't see him. It was only me. No matter how much i argued with them, they refused to acknowledge he was still alive. Now there was only 4 places at the table, although by the looks on everyones faces when we ate, they were still remembering our last meal as a family. Mama is so thin and Papa hardly says a word. I wish they could see him, i wish i had gone instead of him...