Dawned on me that I did actually make all those old letters to you public, for whatever that’s worth. Been awhile, which it really hasn’t considering how many mornings I sing in my car or talk to the air like it’s you. Songs are getting a little bit easier to take but there’s some bands I still instinctively skip. Just can’t take it yet.
Conversations with M lately on all things worldly harken back to many a conversation on the floor in the old apartment inÂ the wee hours. Once you were really my friend too, not just that guy I knew. So often lately I have been wishing so hard that you were in the midst for our conversations, knowing you would have your views and that they’d be fantastic in one way or another.
I remember so clearly that first year after you were gone. How many people would tell me it gets easier and all those little lies we tell ourselves to survive. I nearly fired my therapist for suggesting that I ‘let you go’. That struck me as such an insult at first, but given the complete breakdown I had just had in her office I can understand why that would be the suggestion made. Letting go, accepting is supposed to be end goal of grief I guess. Thing is, that’s not how I roll. Acceptance to me feels like forgetting and I refuse to forget you. I listen to the few voicemails and videos I have of you when I need to hear your laugh. Those are precious commodities to me now in a way I never anticipated. Sometimes just those few words, hearing you say my name is exactly what I need to not throw in the towel.
I’m trying to be brave. I’m trying to live. If not for me, I guess I do it for you. I realize how hopelessly romantic that sounds (not in a creepy way, whatever there’s love in friendship so the fucking cliche works).
Maybe this is the practice I need to start? Just stream of consciousness to you like I do in the car? Better than not writing at all, even if it is useless bullshit.
Miss yer fuckin face, man. Miss yer brain. Miss ye.