364.
austin has been empty, and i have no love for chicago. boston holds too much in its hands already.
a few days, i'll be back.
things will have changed little on the outside, but when has that ever mattered?
tomorrow, it will be one year since boy's been gone.
a year of holidays, tuesdays, evenings, conversations, pictures, new comic days, hangovers, cigarettes. we try so hard to put something onto the time that passes, some sort of label to make it easier. the anniversary of his death, as though somehow by accompanying this event with a convenient phrase, they'll know what i mean when i say, i'm sad today but not more than i was yesterday and not less than i will be tomorrow. we attempt to throw time into tight units when some mornings, it could have been yesterday. some nights, he's been gone so long that his voice is a whisper. time cycling and boxed into presold days has nothing to do with a boy and a girl.
it's just an easy way to say that it's been a long time since he held my hand.
this is nothing but silence.
there are no sounds or small movements.
it is quiet draped in such a black, no color, just the absence of my light and firmly closed eyes.
if i could ... if i could change ... there is no way to tell you how or why or to what degree, but it wasn't supposed to be like this. not for him.
