One of my favorite men in the world is actually a boy.
Sometimes I feel like writing to him, but I never do.
Yesterday, as I found an old picture of an acquaintance's pet, Michael, a scarab, I asked him how his pet is doing. He said that unfortunately Michael died two months ago, but his daughter and son still live.
I only met Michael once, and I still remember his eyes. I took a picture of him. But never again mentioned him in any of the times I met his owner at the dorm or at the university. And if I'd never found that photo, I would've never asked about him.
It got me thinking about the last conversation I had with one of my favorite men, who's still a boy.
He couldn't meet me to say goodbye, even though I was leaving to the other side of the world, and it got me upset.
"I'm sorry, I'm a loser" - He said.
"You're not a loser, you're just losing me" - I replied.
No, I didn't mean to take my tone to a dramatic Mexican soap opera level.
And at that point, I couldn't really explain what I meant. I didn't know it myself.
But today, as I kept wondering if I preferred to never know if Michael was dead, even though I happily found out he had two kids whose eyes are just as sparkling as his own eyes, I think I can finally rationally explain how I felt.
I wanna know if one of my favorite men has become a man, but I'm so scared I'll lose my boy.
I wish I could ask him how his grandparents are doing.
And if he's already at his new job. But I wonder if I wanna know the answers.
I think I'll never meet Michael's owner again. Therefore, the chances of meeting Michael again were already few.
So if I had never asked about Michael, he would still be alive for me.
Maybe 40 years from now he would  still be alive.
I lost Michael.
In the moment I took that picture, I lost him.
Not knowing it was the very last time I would see him, not knowing that finding that picture one year later, would lead me to ask about him just to find out he was no longer alive, I lost him.
I may not be a loser, but I lost him.