He would always ask, "when are you going to make a painting of me?" I'd reply and say "someday".

It hurts so bad that the "someday" happened to be after he died. We had dreams and aspirations, of doing more, of making people see our worth, of changing our stories. But I guess now he is free, and in a better place. I miss him, will always do.

We all yearn for that freedom after all, maybe because we don't know what happens next.