Ten months too late
Just a how-ya-doing
I can’t be so light
Easygoing, in and out of my life
You were my first obsession
My dark need
Connection with the inner depth
I loved you not for lust
But for isolation
Solitary solace
I loved to watch you run laps at school
And waited for your call
You and your mystery
Unnamed sorrow sat in your PE sweats
I longed to belong to it
To hold it, to rock it to sleep
Thirteen year-old need
It grows away eventually
You tried to love me
Letters from juvenile hall
Lyrics from songs I promptly possessed
It wasn’t love I needed
It was identity-discovery
I heard the truth of it
You could not give me who I was
Who I wanted to be
You found a girl who took your love
I leaned on other solitudes
Other mysteries
The five-hour phone calls
I’d save your messages for days
I could say anything to you
Back then
When lunchtime was our meeting ground
When the telephone bridged our thoughts
Your voice
It invaded me
I can still feel the weakness
Of my best resistance
Email is cold
We met in winter for brief hours
And we sat familiar
In moments we pressed to create
We moved on again
It doesn’t matter why
You didn’t call when Lita died
I found other solaces
I am still here
I still need connection
With inner depths and isolation
But the bridge is lost
Leading not to mysteries
Am I unreasonable
To ask for resolution
But you were the only one who knew
How close I am to home again
Your ghost included in these scenes
I see replayed outside my car
When I pass the old house
When I pass the park
Where I first heard why you were gone
How your mystery was first revealed
I sent a letter to your parents
I didn’t care why you did drugs
Or why you broke the law
I wanted to touch your sadness
To belong to your desperation
To hold on to your intensity
And rock you to sleep
I did not need you to love me then
I wanted to be known
But we move on
Miles and years past knowing
Can we rest in ghosts and letters sent
Can we be light
Can we be in and out
Brief hours without connection
Without depth and honesty
Without lyrics and poetry
Can we be at all…
