I looked over and record was not where it was supposed to be. I walked over, knelt down and slid the record back into it’s sleeve fully. And when I place it back in it’s home, I notice your record. My heartbeat hesitates. Live At Massey Hall 1971. It was your favorite record and you loaned it to me so that I too could enjoy it. I played it as I made dinner for myself, by myself.
The first time we hung out we ate cinnamon rolls and the sun hung in that sort of soft autumnal way it does that time of year. The air was crisp as we walked to the park. We sat on a bench and talked as you ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that you had smashed a granola bar into. We decided to go out west to your family’s house. You played me a song you wrote and we fed your sibling’s turtle lettuce.
As we drove back, the tension made things only slightly awkward. I asked you in to nap with me. You smelled soapy and sweet. Your light brown, shaggy hair was soft and clean. Your smile was kind, and innocent and your lips felt pillowy on mine.
You were sad like me. We shared that. Laying on a school yard black top, I knew you could never love me more than a friend. You took a photo of me laying across the state of Florida in my Unknown Pleasures tshirt. Your shadow was on me.
I saw you a while back. You seemed reserved, but you kind of always were. Only this time you didn’t show me a cute animal video like you always do. I was excited to see you. You had told me you had recently spent time in the hospital. I knew what you meant. Your heart sunk the bench on which we sat. I hugged your arm, and spoke of us doing something soon.
When I found out what happened. I didn’t know what to think. Things like this happen in peoples lives, but it hadn’t in mine. Not to anyone close. Not to anyone who had been inside of me. Not to someone whose breath i had breathed, whose face i had caressed. I felt foolish that I had not heard, but I was not surprised. I felt hurt, but I also feel relieved. I know what it is like to want to die. I know what it is like to be trapped by loneliness.
I miss you, and think of you. I think of your smile and your eyes and that flower you gave me that lived on my bookshelf for so long. I will miss the dots on your face and the sweet, soapy way you smelled-slightly of American Spirits.
May your heart float up and out and your body return to the universe and become the stuff of stars.