The way that I love you now feels
Grasping and finite and unclear.
I feel like my face is flushed
And there is no beer left
And there is something I’ve still yet to do.
Talking to friends feels, unfulfilling.
Our moments were secret and in the hidden hours and through telephone cords and email and mixed cds.
It was dancing in the street to Wilco while they were playing a block away and we were heading back to my place
Just so you could leave, on a plane, hours later.
It was California and Tennessee.
Your death has caused a rift within me. With something I cannot know. Emotions I have never been ok with.
I had a dream the very night the very day the very time and you were me and I was you. There were machines beeping and doctors talking softly. Brigid burned a hole in my chest.
Wilco. Tarot. Buster. Homestar. Rufus. The Sun, the Hanged Man. The magic we create.
Rest, for once. Gods, please rest.