It’s as if you never disappeared. I find traces of you everywhere. No one understands it, so I eventually ceased to speak of it. It’s a story that no one believes, which makes sense, since it seems so unreal. I even question myself sometimes. Was it real? Did you really exist? Was I just in some crazy dream? I was young and naive. I jumped at any chance to believe that something interesting and exciting was happening.
But I have proof of your existence. The dice you left me. An old book. The playing card I’ve come to love. My knack for cursing and sarcasm.
Small and faint, a scar that’s barely visible just below the back of my right knee. The day I got hurt… the day you vanished.
You’re imprinted in my memory. A moving force that molded parts of who I am before disappearing. I wonder, sometimes, if you’re still there; guarding me from a distance, always keeping to the shadows. It’s something I’d like to believe.
Are you still watching over me, Nickolai?