Saturday, June 8, 2013

Loss to life

The only thing worse than losing a friend to death must be losing one to life. Death brings its five stages of grief but life brings more of it wrapped only in disbelief. The streets you walked with your dead ones are only yours but those of your living... those you still must share.

Tell me old friends that still roam… when did life overstretch our truth?
Tell me young companions… was it ever warm? Even in summer

I ask in defence of narratives we built together and values we pledged we'd stand by forever. I ask, with all the skin we've shed since, would we still recognise each other? I ask so that we may end our chapters with post-civil dignity. I ask so that our faking can stop. I ask to know if I fake it alone. I ask because I cannot tell anymore. Your eyes are dead old friend, but you are full of life.

I am sure you are sure but I must hope to be wrong. So that the past can still maintain and so that I can remember and we can still perpetuate.

I'll make you an offer that'll fill your coffers: I'll trade you our past for your future. Give me that and be gone again... but don't be generous! I only want my fair price, no matter how expensive or inexpensive.

Do it and die old friend. Do it before I murder the past, be full of a life nested in cold eyes. Do it before I become you old friend.


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