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perfectly_chaotic
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If we were talking right now…
Perhaps we would reminisce of the summer days,
Remember the ones we went camping and you taught me to play spades.
Or maybe we would think back to a simpler time,
Back to days passed in the summer grass
My father coaching us and the other Cub Scouts to hit and throw a ball.
Or maybe we look back to the first day of kindergarten,
To a day that I asked you to be my best friend
I had just learned that Bert and Ernie were best friends.
I promise not to ask you about the weather,
Or if you are as lonely as I am sitting at my desk.
Are you as lonely lying still six feet beneath the frost?
I want to tell you how I feel about that time in the hospital
When the tubes wouldn’t allow you to speak,
So you wrote on the dry erase board to my father
“Thank you for teaching me how to pitch.”
Yet I can't, I don't even have the words.
A few days later you told me
No one came to visit you in your hospital gown.
Nobody came except me, your family, and your pastor.
It would have been nice to have made it more than once.
When we last spoke I was too high to stay awake.
Maybe you knew it but were being too polite to say so.
We had not been as close the last few years after all.
I got into my car to drive home and left with plans to meet again October 28th.
Time stood still on October 26th.
This was over five years ago now.
This was the day I held the hand of your bloated corpse.
You had stopped breathing early that morning and have not taken a breath since.
If only you could take a few gasps of the cool autumn air
I promise I would not ask you how the weather has been in that box.
I would ask if you are as lonely as I am sitting at my desk right now.
Are you as lonely down there beneath the frost coated, neatly manicured grass?
Are you lonely down there lying still, staring up at that blanket of crunchy brown and gold leafs?
If only you could rise up above the ground.
I would wrap my arms around your bones and cry.
I would cry harder than I am right now, fleshy digits striking keys, filling the screen with words…
Maybe I would cry until all the blood seeped out of the weak spots in my heart.
Yes, certainly I would bleed so long that I would run out of blood.
Then perhaps I could join you laying still, just another rotting piece of meat,
Never again to feel a rush of air as it hits my lungs.
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