It’s been one of those days, I guess. You know what I mean, the kind that starts out beautiful and full of promise, only to end in the tragic monotony of everything you’ve ever known. A cascade of drudgery.
But in the midst of it all, you crossed my mind. Suddenly and inexplicably. Inescapably.
No doubt something triggered your release. Somehow, someway, someone or something reached way down there, in the depths of my soul or wherever, where I’d convinced myself you were tucked neatly away. No one would find you, least of all me. I hid you from me. And yet, you escaped.
I hate myself for cursing the feeling. For being angry at your resurfacing.
You must know, I tried to so hard to write about you, about what you did. I couldn’t do it. I blocked the pain and the questions in a veil of nonchalance. I told myself you would have wanted it that way. After all, you didn’t include me in your goodbye.
And now, all of a sudden, for whatever reason I cannot seem to decipher, the memory of you has assaulted my conscience. You’ve forced me to face your haunting essence. Your essence. What the hell is that, anyway? Your smile? Your charisma? Your easy and accepting nature? Yes. I suppose all of that and more.
But there was more, obviously. A dark side. An emptiness and a pain that you silently, needlessly endured. For what? To leave the rest of us in a vortex of doubt and inner turmoil? Well, fuck you, dude.
I mean that in the best way possible, of course. If there is a best way to that.
All I know is, I’m sitting here, sobbing over a friend – someone who was there for me to lean on, to face my lowest of lows, my deepest despair; someone who fought through the cynicism and wrapped me in his arms to assure me everything would be OK.
I could never repay that debt… but couldn’t you at least have given me the chance to try?
I love you always.