The Flowers That Bear Your Name Grow On The Roadside

Dear sweet boy, 

 

I miss you.  It’s nights like this when I have trouble articulating what the inside of my head looks like, that I miss you walking around in it.  It is still strange to me that you are gone, that I am older than you ever were.  I miss how you dismissed the parts of me that weren’t important, and magnified the me that felt authentic.  

I think of you walking around the Albright-Knox and how alive you were… I remember thinking how alive you were, how the colors lived in your skin, and how your philosophy of life was embodied in the art around us.  I remember the rain, and threading my arm through yours and laughing. 

Sometimes it is hard to Be without you to understand Being. I still haven’t found anyone else who shares our stupid sleep patterns, or our secret coded way of speaking.  I haven’t met anyone who can touch me with one word, because that word showed not only that you saw, but that you understood. 

 

I try not to think to much about the fever times.  Of our manic turns, our tragedies.  I try not to think about how hard it was for you to articulate some nights, and that even though I understood what you meant, the loss of being able to formulate it yourself was devastating.  I try not to think about how many times you talked me down from manic bad decisions and rash depressions.  Although that is part of our story too. 

I miss how bad you were at giving directions, and being annoyed at you for it.  I miss that you were so changeable sometimes, and that I felt breathless and slow to catch up.  I miss your judginess and your chiding, as much as I hated it.  I don’t think of you as a perfect star that had no flaw, except to me you were a guiding star, and I feel your absence as a loss that has left me adrift. 

It’s Valentine’s day in Buffalo already.  There is probably snow on the ground. If you were still around I would text you, because that is something I do now, and we would put on a chick flick and watch it together over Netflix, probably.  Oh man, you would love Netflix, all of He-Man is on there. 

I’m pissed off that you never saw the Transformers movie, had an iPhone or saw the end of the Harry Potter movies.  I mad that you didn’t officiate my wedding. 

There are so many feelings that I keep expecting to fade over time but you are still missing and the edges are still sharp. I’ve lost so much of you.  Aside from you yourself, all the AIM conversations, Myspace chats, and texts on my old phone, and I don’t have a recording of your voice and that vexes me.  

In many ways, I’m still trying to recover hope. I gave it up, and it’s not easy to coax back. 

I wish I could ask you for one more miracle. 

faith, hope and love. 

 

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