He lay just up the road from my father, the young man I grew to consider my friend though we never met in this realm. On our way to my father’s grave, I was strangely drawn to one nearby. A few small stuffed animals had been placed around it, as if they could either be standing guard or keeping company. I walked up to read the gravestone and learned it was the final resting place of a youth of seventeen. The offerings, loving expressions of grief from his friends, likely their first experience of death with someone so close to their own age. I felt as if I were sharing it with them. My father had been closer in age to when one naturally crosses the veil, but in a way he introduced. On future visits I always made it a point to say hello to my young friend.
I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.
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