She danced lightly through the empty apartment, touched the bluish green, slightly cracked concrete walls, ran her bare feet over the cold stone floor. How she loved this apartment, almost as much as I loved her.

When I remember her like that, I keep thinking about what would have happened had I told her at any point in our friendship how I felt about her.
To me she was the most wonderful creature this world has ever seen. Ever.

The rooms of our first apartment were large, we were just in the bedroom, 18 square meters, square, with a tiny balcony with a black iron border.
The room was completely empty, only she had hung up the white, semi-transparent curtains and plugged her CD player into the socket.

"Hallelujah" ran for the third time, I don't know which version, because I could only concentrate on her quiet, soulful singing along. Even if this song is still sung somewhere today, in those hated, fake casting shows that are only for the amusement of others, on the radio, by the latest underage pop stars, I only hear their voice right after the first few chords.

That fairy, tender voice, full of compassion and love.
I guess I never stopped loving her. Her way, her laugh, her entire appearance is still like a dream to me, as if an angel had been sent into the world for a short time, by God personally, just so that I could see this happiness and this beauty. I never deserved it.

She opened the window with a flourish, a cool breath of spring air swept through the room and blew the curtains in the wind. The sight was beautiful; her petite figure, fair skin, overlooked with fine, light freckles, flattered by this floor-length, white cotton fabric that let the light shine through and let more of her skin be seen. Her jet-black hair, tied in a ponytail, still flowing in a messy, slightly curly manner to the protruding shoulder blades. She was way too thin.

With a "Joselin, look at that!" she brought me back to the present. I stared at her, she stared back, her dark eyes over all the freckles glared at me. She laughed and came over to me, took my hand and pulled me to the balcony.
Every touch of her soft, warm skin burned me like fire, but I had never shown it, never let it show. After all, we were best friends.

Her bell-bright laugh inspired me, then she leaned on the edge and pulled herself forward, wind blew into her face and she closed her eyes to enjoy it completely. She enjoyed everything, she loved everything. The view was probably splendid, and later she said how green the trees were, how delicate pink the blossoms were, how the whole world smelled of spring and new beginnings.If everything was allowed to start over, why not her?
When I looked at her again, she had tucked a pink flower behind her left ear and was holding one in her hand. "Come here, Joselin!", She laughed and pulled me closer to her by my hand. Then she stuck the flower in my hair, but it fell out again immediately. "Oh, you better leave it, I don't think that it will hold in my hair, much too straight ..." I muttered to her, but my hair was already adorned. "How beautiful you are!" She whispered, as if it was losing seriousness out loud.

But nothing and nobody in the world was more beautiful than the being in front of me.
After her death, I never loved anyone again, never again. Nobody could ever touch me so much again, nobody was so pure, so warm-hearted.
Never again did I feel the acute urge to hug someone, never again did I. Sometimes she cried at night because she was scared. Not of dying, but of leaving their loved ones behind.

Her boyfriend, whom she had been with since 10th grade, who never went to her funeral because he hadn't left his apartment for three weeks. Her family, her little brother, her parents, her cousins ​​and her uncle. Especially her mother couldn't stop crying. And me, her best friend, who was always by her side. And always loved her wholeheartedly since elementary school. Who hated the friends she found in high school because she had to share now. Who loved her tears and her laughter.

I loved her, he loved her, and she loved him.
At her funeral I wore the terrible, colorful dress that I had once sewn. It was red, yellow, and green. I hated it like the plague, but Catherine loved it, she admired me. I often sewed clothes for her and they were all awful, but all of them were her favorite clothes. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, children were playing in the street on their birthday. Everything matched her character perfectly, she loved it all. It was as if she had asked God if he would sweeten her funeral and he had lovingly done her the favor.

At her funeral, I couldn't think of any other thought than to follow her, finally to flee from myself, to slit my wrists down my whole arm, to jump from the tallest skyscraper, to buy an eternally expensive wedding dress, to weigh it down with weights and dive in some river. But I could never think about it any further, because I know how much it would hurt Catherine.

After three weeks, Nick rang the doorbell. I opened the door, I hadn't left our apartment either.
We didn't talk to each other, but we spent the next two and a half months together in the old apartment. Neither of us could let go, we both looked for traces and legacies in the apartment. Neither of us could let go, he cried all day and was a fucking washcloth.Neither of us could ever let go. Then one morning he left.
Half a year ago I received his wedding invitation, he and some "Michelle". I was never there.

I was fired for not showing up for work. I lost my friends because I didn't care and I ignored her ringing the doorbell. My parents divorced, but I didn't notice, the only contact I had with them was that they paid the rent. They took it as a tribute for my not interfering in their affairs and I was able to stay with Catherine. The autumn was still warm, but the winter was freezing. Then it was spring again.

And I noticed that Catherine was no longer in the apartment. I noticed it while showering, suddenly she was gone. I no longer saw her brushing her teeth on one leg for ages tomorrow and calling it "massage for the mouth". I no longer saw her in the kitchen frying a fried egg on Sunday mornings and painting flowers on the plate with ketchup. And the bed in the bedroom was empty.

I ran out of the apartment in a panic, forgetting to slam the door or put on shoes. I ran to the bakery where she worked, but the saleswoman didn't even know her name. So I called her a whore and kept running. To the university where we both studied, to the lecture halls. She wanted to become a kindergarten teacher for the disabled, but then she lost her strength and concentration. A couple of students studying looked at me bitterly, then I started crying and kept falling. She wasn't in our elementary school, nor in the playground we used to play in as kids, where I fell in love with her.
The next time I looked up, I was standing in front of her parents' house. I didn't ring the doorbell, instead I went home again.

"Every person has a quality that he personally has from God, something that only he possesses to this extent.", Catherine told me at some point. "Some always achieve everything they tackle, their ambition is unbelievable. Some have such a strong will that even the greatest loss cannot harm them. Some people can spark other enthusiasm and sparks!" Catherine could be pure. Catherine was pure. She couldn't lie, she turned tomato red every time, and she hated it. She loved everyone, even those who laughed at and provoked her when her hair fell out.

She didn't wear hats or scarves, she made love for who she was, and the illness was just part of her.
From that day on, I cried until my tears stopped.
Then, at some point after a very long time, I started to keep going.

No one can mourn forever, they said.
And every time I lied in their faces and said, "Yes."
I looked for work again, I became a baker. I paid the rent myself again.
I made friends again, pretending to laugh.I did it for Catherine.

One of my colleagues asked me if I wanted to go out with him, I did. That same evening I lost my innocence, but it meant nothing to me. I found the male body sickening, but no one should ever find out how much I loved her.
I got together with him, but at some point he must have realized that I never loved him, I broke his heart. Mine didn't feel anything.

I became happier, at some point I enjoyed baking. I really made friends.
I went out, I danced. I celebrated my 30th birthday with a lot of people. I puked from alcohol for the first time in my life.

And then, sometime in late summer, her song was back on. I had just phoned a friend who called me "her best", which is why I despised her, but I had grown fond of her nonetheless.
I looked around the bedroom, the wall was now bright yellow. I had rearranged the whole apartment, renovated everything, only in one corner there was still Catherine's CD player, I had heard her song all day before, at some point I stopped touching it.

I don't know what my thoughts were that day, Catherine was only weak to me, after all, only in my dreams.
Every time her song played it caused me the greatest pain and made me realize how much I missed her.

Now she was back, but the pain was gone. I remembered the first day in our apartment again. When she was on the balcony and stuck the flower in my hair. I love their laugh, I love their sparkle. I laughed with her now. I realized how beautiful these memories were and how much I had tainted them with my own pain. I regained my strength and became a real baker. I visited disabled people in homes and kindergartens. I lived on for Catherine as best I could, emulating her and getting happier every day.
Catherine came to earth as an angel. Now she was one again.
And at some point I'll see her again when she receives me,