Death reconciles sadness and joy. Achraf says it is the ultimate truth. And we are only capable of seeing anyone buried… or right before, on the washing slab, in a coffin or before they sail to burn. We look at them like it’s the first time. The last time is the first. We say hello as they wave goodbye. Eyes shut. Soul afloat. We only belong to them then. They conquer Achraf’s truth all while immortalising our memories. We eventually embalm them into a picture. One time. One moment. That is all we have left. Our misery is traded for the sanctuary of a single memory. Dear Bassem, I’m sorry I skipped Sir Bani Yas Forum and we never met like we planned. Dear Thamer, I’m sorry I didn’t press on you to leave to RAK after lunch like you initially planned that day before you got that on wretched bike. Dear Nasser, I’m sorry I missed your burial and didn’t shed a tear when mom called to tell me – though my heart broke and my lungs compressed at the thought of your loss. Dear Akil, I’m sorry I never took those calls just before the end. But I am not reconciled. I would trade all that truth and a thousand real moments for the company of your lives. I do not find solace for your wrong deaths in the greatness of your past lives. That doesn’t do it for me. I wanted more of you. Days and decades since, I still want more of you. I will always hate that you are dead. You deserve to be immortal. I will probably die a little sooner because you died so much sooner.