28. January has dawned, it just rudly flashed before my eyes. I guess to warn me that for a month i'm refusing that you're gone. We didn't have a proper goodbye so for many days i'm thinking about how that perfect goodbye should sound if it ever comes up to it. Are people strong enough to endure that last hug, smile, swearing, glance, or would they greedily ask for an another second with you? They say, when you die it isn't hard on you instead it's hard on the people you left behind. This was said certanly by someone who remained behind. I have the tendency to sit on the terace, in the middle of the night watching the weird sky above New Belgrade. I hear you from the distance, you're calling me and ask me again: 'Dude, why do you love Belgrade?' I don't know, maybe I lied to you then, but the rebellious yearning girl in me really wanted to stuff everything in a few sentences and seconds. The smell of Tašmajdan in the summer, the lights of Slavija square before christmas, the noise of Boulevard of the Revolution, graciousness of Skadarlija and that damned moonlight bathed Danube. You probably know all that, but I wanted you to feel the nostalgia that I feel everytime I leave Belgrade and you to realise why despite everything I don't want to move. I've always lived different. Maybe I was a poet in my past life, so i have the need for kind words but there's no remedy and conciliation when such a thing is on the agenda. One night, everyone who knew you, who loved you and who love you will have a weird dream. They'll just hear the echo that says 'Would he be proud of me?' I don't know, I guess that's how it goes. Though if you were here they would to the same thing they just wouldn't realize that you're that strenght and drive in them that pushes them to better, nicer and bigger. I wanted so many more times to tease you because you love Red Star, even though I love it to. And so many more times I wanted to hear and say some thing that I didn't have a chance to say and hear. But in this stuffed grayness that you left behind for us, i'm sitting and thinking that it isn't easy being the hero of your time if your born in the wrong time. There's always some battle between you and life, you want to believe how it has a perpose, and it just wants to take you down and ensure you that no one has ever beaten it. I guess, all you can do is to stick your foot deeper in the sand, paint something, write a song, love someone because one day when we leave that is the only thing that will separate us from being meaningless. Then I open my eyes, tears come bursting and I realize: F***, check mate. The perfect and ideal farewell that i'm talking about doesn't exist. Because all those who really loved you have never parted from you. For those people you live forever, you're somewhere on the sky, blinking red and white. One night when our time has come, your footsteps will ring in our room, your look will break all the benches of Tašmajdan and you'll fiercely clench my arm. I'm not gonna be afraid to stand by you then. You know, maybe it is really hard to be the hero of your own time but I know whose hero you'll remain forever. Goodnight love.