I was on the roof, watching the sunset. It was a late summer evening, at the end of a hot summer day. We just had a fight and I felt the house was suffocating me. I left it and, without anywhere to go, I turned to the roof, climbed the few steps to it and opened the heavy metal door. I sat there, just above the room where we were fighting earlier.

I was dead. My head was turned to the left, my body limp and I was holding my breath. You were on your knees, bent over me, your chubby little hands pressing on my chest, your voice trembling, calling my name. You’ve seen death before. You didn’t know exactly what it meant, but you’ve seen what it did to people.

The way I look is nothing like you. I would have thought that, being younger, I would have been an exact copy of you. I thought I would have had your curly hair, your green eyes, your thin lips and your plump face. I have, in terms of looks, nothing from you.