I loved him. Not in a romantic way. We were both involved in our own relationships, but he still meant the world to me, in a different way. He was my hero, my inspiration, my motivation.
I was a professional athlete, and he was my coach. Not only for sports, but I also looked up to him for life. I always wanted to impress him, never wanted to let him down, I wanted to show him everything I had inside of me. How talented and passionate I was too, that I could do anything I set my mind to.
He truly believed in me, and always pushed me to do my very best, and never doubt myself. I knew that I was his favorite one, and he wasn’t afraid to show it either. He was proud of me, and always wanted to show me off as a product of his hard work. He would constantly tell me that I’m even more talented than him, that I just need to learn the proper technique, but that I’m a natural, and that I have it in me.
He always made me feel so good about myself, and never let any excuses get in my way. He brought light and humor into every situation, he made the toughest training sessions something to look forward to every day. He was my hero.
And now I lost him. He’s been in coma for the past year and a half. I pray and wish every day that he will wake up and come back to himself. So many people are counting on him. So many people rely on him and need his strength to help them find their own.
Please, wake up. It’s not the same without you.