Dear ______,

The new record came out today, but I couldn't listen to until it was night and quiet, because I knew I would cry. I sat in my chair and sobbed; the music you loved was so beautiful, as beautiful as you were, as you are, and will always be.

It's been ten years; ten years since the last record, ten years since you died. Sitting in that chair I felt your arms come around me, sensed my head against your chest, and I was so warm out of the cold and the rain I knew it was only because you were there, embracing me. With my eyes closed I was sure of it, the way I am sure of it when I feel you beside me in the taxi, hear you laughing at me from across the room, catch you looking at me while I'm reading the paper on Sunday mornings. On this night you reminded me that I am not alone, and you made me so happy I was hysterical.

I know if you were here you would say, don't wish for that other thing. It frustrates you and it can never, will never be. How many times are you going to do this to yourself? And you will watch me bang my head against it again and again, refusing to acknowledge that it hurts, that I bruise, that I ache. You know I am stubborn and too full of pride to say the things I feel, because I never said them to you. The simplest things, like I want you, and I am tired of all the work it takes to pretend that I don't. But you know: that work is all I'm good at.

It is pretty to think that on the other side of a few small words lies the universe of our joy. That it's waiting for us to just put on the damn shoes, and click our heels. I don't trust that and I never did. If I had told you then, you would have laughed, or just looked at me funny, which would have been worse. This situation is no different. If I don't speak, at least I can hear what I want to hear.

I promised after you left that I would never make the mistake of hiding the truth of my heart, because the loss of possibility with you was too hard to bear. But I think of you, and I think of him, and I know I am still a coward and a liar, in all the important ways. I'm hopeful and hopeless. One of us is dead to this world, and it isn't you.

_______

[submitted 10/04/02]