The fondest moment of me and you was summer of '11.
When we stayed up to the peak of dawn,
sitting on the beach, it was ever so simple.
That was the month before you died.
We let the waves lap, salty and stinging,
onto our legs, pants bunched up to our knees.
The scent of your skin washing over me,
more intense then the ocean stretching to infinity.
We talked of boys, the fools they make of both of us.
I took your hand in mine and you
smiled, warm and sincere.
And the breaking horizon expanded beyond us
and you said to me that there must be
thousands of other people,
like us, sitting on the edge of the world
with feet dangling in the water,
the closest thing they'll ever have right there next to them
and not a care left.
And as the sunrise reflected down on us,
small and empowered, I really belonged.
Charlie,
I really did.
I sit here and the sea salt breeze
and the warmth of your touch
came flooding over every piece of broken,
the fragments get lost in the sand and the tide.
Everything in my heart is mixed up.
I am tormented by the recollection of your eyes.
There was something empty inside them.
A wholeness that you filled me with was lacking in the
silver of your pupils.
And maybe that night where I felt free and full of
possibilities was the turning
point where you felt like you did not want
to be one of the living any longer.
Maybe I was not enough slumped there next to you
because we both felt small under the sky,
and in my dizzy heart it was the most
thrilling sensation.
Sitting here, torture pumping into my
veins I wondered if you felt so small it
was hopeless.
You did not leave me with much Charlie,
I have a box of photos that I keep hidden in our basement
and a loneliness that sinks into every pore of my aching body.
But what you did thrust at me when you tore yourself from the world
and my arms was a knowledge of cruelty.
Every lie of forever and always that our friendship
had been surrounding was as dead as the cold
corpse of the person you were.
Forever is a mask the weak, the scared,
and the truly youthful wear.
It hides a pain that all things must end.
I was blinded in the sights of what lasting meant.
You taught me of love and self worth my whole life.
But when you took the gun with a picture
of us in the other trembling hand and pulled
the trigger you taught me of the fleeting lengths of time.
You spoke to me on your death bed
that forever is a false accusation of what the world is.
Nothing is forever.
Even my love for you will die with me
as yours for me died with
you.