I miss you Amatullah.
I miss everything about you. I miss your laughter, I miss your smiles, I even miss your blood stains.
You know how it used to get to me when you are alive. How we ended up with multiple loads of washing because your wounds would weep through your bandages and onto your clothing.
But it wasn’t just your clothing, was it? Everywhere I look now your blood stains remind me of you. You may have left this world, but these stains remain, accompanied by the memories of how they got there.
And it’s not just your clothing my love. Your books, your toys, even your pillows are at colored by your blood, an acknowledgement that you once lived here too. And though I used to dislike cleaning the same thing multiple times a day, I’m grateful that a part of you still remained… Even if it’s just your blood stains.