Monday, October 31, 2011

Letter That Fails To Say Goodbye

Forgive me for trying this. I didn’t know whether to write a poem or a letter to you, before realizing they’re essentially the same thing.

You are a bigger deal to me than you know. In the short, healthy span of three months, you’ve taught me how to escape from boxes and trust in the stars. You’ve proved that even the seemingly random can turn into something beautiful. Not everything is predestined: you and I were an accident that no one could reconstruct.

Sleep means everything to me right now, because it’s a temporary state of having no distinct memory. And whatever keeps me away from having to build up our walls, send letters on Christmas, and forget another in death, is a welcoming remedy.

We are a bigger deal than the world will know. Trust no one to care for you the way that I would. I have faith that no one will care for me. And maybe one day, that might lead me back to your doorstep, with this heartsick letter in my hands.

Every word is a gentle countdown, another second before your passing from me, another pile of ashes closer to being my last. I suppose I ought to bury them in the past, kept hidden from my howling winds and your waterfalls. But they comfort me now, every word reminding me of you.

Your tears are blessed, in the sort of way that all running water moves with the power of some holy source. I swear, if you were any more full of light, I would be forced to give up sleep entirely. What good is darkness in a cave showing you always the safest way out?

It is a big deal, to know that an end must come to what you know is truly good. Your tears embarrass no one. I, too, have felt tremors of sadness that can only come out of losing a beautiful part of your life. But I am here for you, so that one day you will be there for me. At least, that’s something to hope.

Yours for now & for ever,
Kaleb Worst

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