|I´m sorry for the pain you had to endure, my friend.
All those nights in hospital,
all those thoughts an eight-year-old child is not supposed to think.
I´m sorry for the dread.
I´m sorry for the tears I don´t cry anymore, my friend.
Even now when I stand here beside your grave eight years later, I can´t cry.
I wonder if I even cried the last time I was here,
but children can´t understand.
I´m sorry for those times I forget you, my friend.
For those times I don´t think of you.
I´m sorry I didn´t even remember you were buried here.
I´m sixteen years old now, my friend.
I´m growing old,
but even if you never had the chance to be sixteen years old, my friend, don´t worry.
I´m just getting closer to the edge,
and eventually I´ll fall off as well.
I can hardly remember anything,
It´s so hard to remember what happened those years,
but I thought you would be able to play with me again.
I guess I really thought you´d get well.
But I was wrong, my friend.
The tumour was growing bigger.
Then you stopped breathing.