How is it to be where you are?

In the human fetus, the heart is the first organ to develop. After death, it slowly transfigures into a pyramid. However, throughout its existence, the heart is never heart shaped. I read that in a book yesterday. Tomorrow marks the second year of the day that you relinquished your vessel. I talk of you less and think of you more. Isn’t that what you’d have preferred?

It’s really been two years. Mary and E have a baby; Peter is in DC, trying to make something out of himself; and, Samantha married a guy who provides farrier services. I never managed to tell her how much I loved her. However, I finally finished that book I was reading when we first met. It wasn’t easy. My hair curls differently. I have developed a proclivity for Belgian ales and have moved to Solvang, California. Also, my penis seems to have gained an inch or more. I can’t tell but feel the difference. That’s how it is with everything else: I can’t tell but feel the difference.

I am a place where I am comfortable. It sounds confusing but that is the best I can do for now. Maybe you are thinking that I meant “I am at place where I am comfortable”. Not really. I did mean to refer to myself as a place. But I haven’t found home, yet.

I am telling you this because, while I am telling you this, it sounds like you are telling me this. I don’t know how these things work. Do you hear me thinking of you? I imagine an afterlife where you are a part of the puzzle. I imagine you, somewhere, doing what you said you would. Or maybe you have really ceased to exist everywhere. But I know you. And you do. Exist. I can’t tell but feel the difference.

I never knew you like I’d wanted to. But I love you nonetheless. And although we only sojourned in each other’s lives, I have held on to the little that we exchanged. You are a big chunk of my map. The unconscious keeps stealing from your gestures.

So here’s to you, mister. Here’s to your life. Yes, I have been drinking. Kentucky whiskey, it says here.


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