Saturday, March 20, 2010

for my dead friend.

imissyou. and i can't figure out if it's because i really felt something real for you when you were alive, or it's because you're dead... and that's makes everything more important. more urgent. more forcing me to think about it. i didn't love you. definitely was not in love with you. i don't really know what loves means tho. and i'm not the only one of course. especially this non-inlove love that isn't as sexy/attractive to define. the much easier love we settle for "deep affection" for. in this case, i love a good amount of people i gather. i do know tho, that i think about you more than i think about my great grandfather, and even my great grandmother (different reasons for each of them i'm sure) one a scoundrel and the other i just haven't seen since middle school (respectively). there's something to the fact that i "got to know you" when i was becoming an adult. and shared a couple firsts with you. however much further over the normal "been there done that" age for these thangs. you showed me a little tenderness. but you showed some other people more and i wonder if it was my fault still. i chose to forgive you for whatever i was deciding to be angry at a dead guy for, but now i have to get over blaming myself for blocking what could have possibly been something different if i wasn't so good at being guarded it became second, more like first nature. instinctual.

but i also have this problem of blaming things on myself just to make sense. like if i see it coming, or know i did it, it becomes comforting. something i can scold myself for and change later? it's not even quite that with this. you become more important because i'll never be able to cuss you out, swing at you or ask you what the hell? and even on a simpler level, can't travel back and ask you questions i shoved down my throat and into my heart, throbbing, throbbing still each time i find myself wanting to ask you now. i choke on them now. and when i remember you're dead, sometimes i stop breathing.

i saw Shutter Island today. makes me wonder how much is enough to make you delusional? how invested must you be to play out a fantasy where things happen differently? i'm not that invested in you. but, my mind does wander. and we save dead things, we mount them as trophies, and keep them in boxes and and i save you. every once and a while i have this fear that if i start to live as full out as you did, i'll end. like you only get so much life in so many years, right? that's enough. one day i'll be able to stop calling you that. until then, it'll be our little joke, how i can't name you. it's actually not funny at all. i can't name most of you. most of you dead things/moments/grey/pale/wilting(ed)/nothing relationships.but i'll still write to you, you can't hurt me new.

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