could have

My first mistake was not knowing who you were. He was the best man at your brother's wedding, and still your existence slipped my mind. A photograph, quickly buried by the unnecessary shots of our work lunches and the cats we meet everyday.

My second mistake was not remembering you. My first concern when I stepped into your house was the rabbit stumbling around behind the cages. I unknowingly trampled around the crime scenes that changed everyday, maybe screaming matches or "you don't understand"s or lonely, still nights. And for the whole year after, I only recalled the unit for the rabbit and the takoyaki your parents bought us.

My third mistake was not prodding. There I was in the kitchen with his mother, helping with the hotdogs and fish cakes. His father and him, casual conversation about a cousin I couldn't picture. No name, no face, no recollection. Just the very word that binds me and you. I did not prod further, turning my attention back to the pan when he snapped his fingers.

Only yesterday the bells rang again, your brother and your house and the two things we have in common. The floor we live on and the state of our mind. Had, because you are gone now. A soul I could have known, a smile I could have turned into a laugh. A life I could have made better, even if you didn't go to sleep smiling.