There is a strange silence in a neighbored usually rampant with noise and chaos and life.
You sit there next to me, stoic and silent and sublime.
The crucible of those hours hang heavy on your shoulders,
the rally flag of familial fortuity have been staked hours ago,
and the army amasses mobilized for you.
We sit and count stars and discourse the strange change of the tides of life.
You're there. Those tranquil moments where I can read everything in your thoughts by the wry grin on your face...
...
...
... I watched as you took down art that hung on our walls for years. Symbols of stability broken and shattered in the mere passing of moments. The songs we used to play for joy now sound out in resonance of misery and loss. I search for the words to keep you knowing I contemplate in pure futility. You've been gone longer than I can allow myself to admit...
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We're sitting on the back porch, the waning crescent moon perched like a petulant perpetrator of perpetual pain. You say you cannot cry and I cannot say why. I cannot be anything more than there.
...
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.... And I remember when I was just too much to take. I kept failing and you kept taking those chances...
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I'm sitting outside my house. The sun bears down on the Charlestown streets and I watch as the neighborhood moves like a calculated game of Risk. I close my eyes, close my book and rest it on my chest. I bask in the blind warmth of a city street and then you call me. You need me. And I am there.
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That morning waking up together. You're arm wrapped around my chest, the morning light intruding in a moment where I felt peace. Where we were able to wake up and face each other and just smile. That pirate grin you wore as you stroked my ear with the blade of your thumb...
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You ask me to be there, And you are never there. I sit, entranced, ever waiting.
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... I watched as I fucked up. I was never right for the moment. I always tried to be there and that was my problem. I was always there and never here...
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I wake from this fever dream, the tears coming without cause, and I ask myself a litany of questions.
Was this real?
Did I ever mean more than just a doorstop?
Whatever love it may be...
It's not this.
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I woke up in a fever, hoping last night was not real.
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I sit and stare out my window looking at the same stars. But you are but a shroud to me, some ethereal mist that has no weight because some never cares. I have to let go of hope...
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..
.
My thoughts of you meaning were but that dream.
I hallucinate too much without drugs.
Go find yourself hope.
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