I remember his end days as vividly as I remember our childhood together.
His mother had cozily tucked him under the blanket. Carefully wrapped to not hinder his deep and heavy breathing. Only his beautiful face was visible. "Look who's come?" His mother said and his jaws parted letting out a weak wisp of air. His vacant gaze slipped down from the ceiling to my face, registering me and my despair, perhaps! Death had half conquered him, but he looked like he had been touched by an angel. To be quite frank, I thought I got a glimpse of God in his face. I looked at him and smiled but he wasn't capable of returning the gesture, though he...