ignis fatuus

Who could have known things would have ended the way they did? Everything seemed so perfect - so true. The future was optimistic and rife with brilliant possibility but then it all came to a screeching, grinding halt. And here I lay shattered and broken in the bloody aftermath, a gasping heap of mangled flesh, haplessly tossed 100 feet through a splintered windshield.

I really didn’t see it coming.

I just can’t stop thinking about us. I’m perpetually haunted by these flickering ghosts, fleeting images of you and me together “forever.” My pitiful life is empty. My soul helplessly drifts afloat in an endless, tumultuous sea of the broiling past. I cannot breathe for I am impetuously overcome by wave after churning wave of painful memory. I am so fucking hollow, truly empty. Every day I pretend to go through the (e)motions that come with day to day living. I pretend to work. I pretend to fuck. I pretend to be there, to be strong, for others either as a friend, lover, son, confidant, etc.

I pretend to stay clean.

We met on April 20th, 2002. I remember this because our anniversary was 04/20. 420 is a very easy number to remember, and needless to say, I never forgot it. It was at a club. You were out on the dance floor when our eyes locked. I had seen you plenty of times before this at various places but I never had the courage to approach you, you were too intimidating. I found out later you felt the same way about me

On that night, April 20th 2002, I finally mustered the courage to approach you and speak to you. And right from the moment I tapped you on your shoulder and caught your attention with a heart-meltingly genuine smile, we were inseparable. We spent that night together. We didn’t make love, though, you held out for several weeks, and I respected you more for this. Rather, we softly spoke and clung to each other in the dark, tenderly kissing like love-struck teenagers. We spent every night thereafter in this fashion. Those days were a blur. I’d count down the minutes at work until I’d finally get to see you.

I was truly alive.

I weep daily, either outwardly or deep within somewhere in the cavernous shadows of my broken heart. I mourn as though you are dead. I roam the world as a specter... an indifferent spectator. I slowly creep along the shadows careful to keep my face hidden from sight. I no longer participate in the dealings of men.

Yes I mourn for you. Ironically, it is not you who is dead