I used to do this kind of thing a lot.
Put on some sad music, pour my soul into a piece of the internet I called home, thinking somewhere, someone might read it. If you were that kind of guy, that kind of person who still reachs into the depths of the underworld, sometimes, occasionally, to feel the brush of another set of fingertips.
I have felt for yours.
I think I'm looking for my twin in pain; if not my soulmate, just a woundmate. Someone to stroke the chords that sting in this set of bones. That you might know just how my soul screams...It's done a lot of screaming this year. Can I tell you? A part of me leans on God...but the other part, the kind that stirs in moments like these...says justice is fake
Can't belive in karma
If that, then we would deserve what we get. And you don't. You don't deserve it. Not this time.
You are that young guy, with his fingers stumbling over guitar chords, singing off key and beautifully, in his dorm room freshman year. I remember always thinking things went perfectly for you. While I was struggling, in loss, to put food in my belly, to absolve myself of guilt...you were just growing up. We haven't been real friends since we were kids I think, yellow jerseys playing on the same soccer team. Comparing heights, comparing minds, comparing hearts. Who was better at art, at school, at sports, at life. Maybe the narrative I told myself that set us apart is just the story I tell myself to forgive the distance time has grown between us.
Can you ever be so unlike your blood? We share
50% of our DNA
a sardonic sense of humor
and 28 years of memories
God I hope there are more. You deserve, more. Stop me grieving what's not yet gone.
