Written originally on November 13th 2011. 6 days before the first anniversary of Adils murder. The loss of this wonderful boy changed my life and made me a better person. My autobiography ‘MADAM’ is dedicated to his beautiful memory.
This time last year Adil you were full of life.
16 and in love. Studying, laughing, the future young, fresh and pure in your veins.
This time last year potential, expectation and promise surrounded you like the soft haze of coloured Christmas tree lights seen through half closed eyes.
This time last year you were on count down. Your days being crossed off. Your time slipping away.
This time last year you had 6 days left. 6 days of potential, 6 days of promise. This time last year you had just 5 school days and half a weekend left to live.
The clock was ticking, but you thought you had all the time in the world. Your friends spent that time with you being friends, passing time. Wasting time.
It took just one minute. Sixty seconds. No time, for them to take your life. Stop your clock.
Every candle that’s blown, every star in the sky, every penny into water thrown, we wish we’d had more time. More time to say good bye, to beg the gods to let you stay. To ask the heavens why?
Time to say ‘sorry, let’s be friends’, ‘we’ve not spoken in a long time’, ‘come to mine, spend some chill time’.
This time this year, this time now, we too are on count down. The days slip by.
We have lived with this for almost a year. It’s been a long time, but somehow no time. A lifetime.
Time spent in the numbing cold at your grave. Time spent in the numbing silence of the court. Time spent in the numbing blackness of the night, with nothing but your name in our heads and the ice of hatred freezing our hearts.
They got so little time. They left you so little time.
This time this year we have 6 days left. 6 days more for the pain and heartbreak to swell and grow, swallowing us whole.
This time this year, the massive black hole that feels bigger than the world devours us, the monstrous despair funnelled fast into the closed throat that chokes and cries out with grief.
This time this year there is no life for you. Your time has been and gone. We are praying for ours to pass, hoping in its passing time will heal like they promise it will.
But for now, for this time this year, for fear of unravelling, all we can do is stand tight together, afraid and bewildered, saying ‘This time last year Adil was still here…’