My First Supporter -A Goodbye Letter

"So, how are you going to make money anyway?"

I’m driving.
All around me, grayish paper buildings seem to be crumbling down.
Clouds leak through withered trees as a subtle wind of cold gets to hit me on the cheek.

Truth is I don’t mind the weather, my eyes are two ponds of watery shadows already.
Not even a dam could contain this awful flood.

Please, remind me:

Why am I so early in the morning at your door?

I park the car. The stairs are endless. I rush into your room. My heart unpins from my chest, my lungs shrink to the size of raisins, I mutter a gasp, a no, and for a moment, there’s nothing but quiet.

I finally get to see you, beautiful as ever, laying on your side, perhaps, at the other side of an autumn dream where leaves fall and you too fall swinging as earth beneath you cracks among the mess of trees and birds and life and

death.

I hug you, wishing to contain you with my arms as vessels, yet you are like the sea itself.
What a piercing thought, to believe I would always have you here.

You are gone from my sight.
My mind flutters with memories of golden flans and cheers and laughter.
I try to grasp you, but you elude me. You have left your cocoon.

Now it's up to me to learn how to fly on my own.

"It’s such a beautiful poem Daniel."

You were my first supporter. The one that trusted me with this. I never pictured myself writing for a living.

But somehow, you did. And therefore, you are my dearest muse.

So I gotta tell you, I started my Advanced Diploma in Screenwriting, I got the acceptance letter two days after you departed.

Is it been rough you know? Not having you here. I still sing for you every now and then. I’m sure you’re listening.

At your funeral, someone asked me how I was going to make money as a writer, and I didn’t know what to say.

I felt discouraged.

One month later, I got an offer for my first writing job — after almost half a year of wearing pajamas all day long. You were right, I just had to stick with the things I love.

This tiny piece is for you, and for all of those crazy enough to trust themselves to dive in and write, dance, draw, love, and cook.

Thank you for being my first supporter grandma, and for teaching the value of standing still during the storm.

Because, when someone asks you:

"How are you going to make money anyway?"

You answer:

"You better damn watch me."