How the hell do all the rest of you cope?

He’s never been able to explain that all his paintings are an attempt to show how beautiful he wishes he actually was. He’s dreamed of being able to say: “Being human is to grieve, constantly.” 

Because what he really wants to know is: “How the hell do all the rest of you cope?”

- My Friends | Fredrik Backman

Letter to Benji

Joar has Benji's spirit. It's beautiful. I'm learning his story. Beginning to love Joar. Still grieving for Benji.

...

Dear Benji,

I don’t know how to talk about you without crying.

You were all edges and ache. All beauty and bruises. I loved you the moment you stepped on the page—too loyal for your own good, too hurt to say it out loud, too alive to be safe. And still, you loved. Fiercely. Protectively. With your whole damn heart.

You were the kind of boy who laughed to keep from screaming, who kissed boys in secret and carried pain like it was penance. The kind of boy who walked your sisters home, took punches for your friends, and asked for nothing in return but a little space to breathe.

You didn’t get enough air, Benji.

You didn’t get enough peace.

You didn’t get to stay.

And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the world for that.

Still—some part of me is glad you stepped in front of that gun. Not because I wanted you to die. God, no. But because that’s who you were. You would’ve done it a hundred times over for someone you loved. That’s why we mourn you like we knew you. Because we did. At least, the versions of you that live in us.

You remind me of the boys I loved when I was young—the soft ones with hard exteriors, the ones who made you laugh but never told you what kept them up at night. You remind me of every time I wanted to scream but smiled instead. Of every moment I felt too much and didn’t know where to put it.

You deserved to be held. To be asked how your heart was. To be chosen.

You were the protector.

But God, you needed protecting too.

I’ll never forget you. Not your jokes. Not your love. Not your loneliness.

Not the way your story made mine feel seen.

Love,

A girl who still grieves you