"If you cry it's real, and if it's real... He is gone." -Dance Academy.

Low Battery. Exactly the two words I did not want to see right now. I know my charger is not in my bag, but I unconsciously check it one more time just to find what I already knew. I look around, there is not one soul in this hallway and it is even colder now than before. I know at some point it will be too dark and too cold for me to stay -and I am not talking about the hallway, but about this whole situation. It will be hard to let go of him, that's for sure, but not as hard as holding onto his memory. The memory of a person who no longer exists; a soul that is not longer part of mine.

My phone vibrates one last time but turns off even before I can see the upcoming text; how helpful. It does not matter, though, because I know who the text was from and what it meant: it is time to go. I stand up and walk to the empty room in front of me to take one last look at it. My eyes became so used to seeing him in that bed that a feeling of discomfort tickles my stomach. A feeling I am starting to get used to, but that this time rushes through my body all the way up to my throat, making me cringe. It makes my hands shake, too, and it takes me a few seconds to realize I am crying. It is just a few skinny tears, but enough to understand that I have finally passed my shock state and these are my first tears in days. I quickly turn around and begin to walk down the hospital with my bag in one hand and my heart in the other one, not even bothering to clean the tears away, because there is no reason to be ashamed of them; no reason to hide my brother's tears.