Studying for finals is 25% podcasting classes I've missed, 15% reading, and 60% reminding myself about why this all even matters to me. It's been 2 years. On my last day this one could barely open his eyes. He had always been so fiesty and ready to fight. But when his mom told him I was leaving, he looked at me through quarter open slits and tried to reach out his hand to me. It's been about 100 weeks. That's 695 days and 695 chances for him to wake up in the southern sunlight, sip on his strawberry milk. Maybe watch a couple minutes of Doraemon, then get distracted and run around teasing the other kids. But that's also 16,680 hours in which he might have lost the chance to do any of that again.
I'm sorry I'm taking so long. I'm sorry if you've been waiting for my head to poke through the door again and call you over, swoop you up and throw you on my back to make you fly, read to you in English so you could laugh at me. I'm sorry I've been idle. I'm sorry that this all might be completely self-centered or ingenuine. I'm sorry I can't just be happy that you were so full of life on your good days. And I'm sorry that the most I'm doing right now for you is just hoping that you're still physically capable of being disappointed at me for all of this.