I came to say hello for the last time, my hands forced to greet you because I heard you had already left. Unfortunately, not only don’t you know you have left but you are truly leaving, or maybe you do know but I could never know that. And if you did know I’m not sure how you would tell me unless you died, then you would’ve spoken for yourself, then ultimately for us. But regrettably, as I said, you have already died, or at least you will tomorrow and that’s why I’ve come to say hello again with the least to say. I can’t tell you that you are dead when you are alive as that means nothing to us, I whisper death to you on a secret rendezvous appearing as a spontaneous greeting, how we usually see each other.
Today’s the first time I have never met you, having come with you in mind without us deciding. But I had to decide on a choice I never could’ve made, to see you before seeing you. And I apologise for having to choose to act as if I didn’t have the chance to say hi for the first time, an apology I must keep to myself because it is shameful knowing what neither of us could. That is why I can’t address an apology to you if I never expected or wanted to know. Bearing the news to myself by receiving it through you and before you, and somehow must say your goodbyes. Yet, Im forbidden to return your waves because I supposedly know where you are going, something you will know the day after tomorrow. I cry because we have met before and are torn for leaving before having left. It isn’t a gift to see you one last time, as if you’re dead when alive. Greetings, old friend.
ARGO 