We met several years ago, I would hang out at your internet cafe and we would spend hours chatting. You were one of those people I knew I could hit it off, if I were single. You were a nice guy, bitch most of the time, but nice. Last year, I started seeing your posts on facebook, you were saying that you were sick and that you will fight, that you will make it through somehow.
I was being judgmental when I told myself I knew what you were talking about. I just knew. But YOU knew what I did mostly for and in the HIV community so I found it odd that you didn’t open up to me when I confronted you if there was anything you wanted to tell me. I was talking to you not as a counselor. I was your friend. Damn you, I am your friend.
But you didn’t say anything, and I had to let it go. I had to wait until you were ready. Ready to tell me I was an asshole for thinking you were HIV positive.
Today, you posted your pic, in the hospital. My heart stopped. My soul went into a slow motion.
I messaged you. And there, you said it. “Friend, I’m positive.”
Tears instantaneously fell down my cheeks.
You hardheaded son of a bitch, if something bad happened to you, I can and will never forgive myself. You told me you’re doing better now, and that you’re on your 3rd day of ARV, and that your last cd4 was 4.
I swear I will slap you when we meet, for not letting me do what I normally do for strangers. I swear.
But for now, be well, my friend. Be well. And I will see you soon.