Ode to Af

I have a tendency to cry whenever I think of you.

For every time the tears run down my face I feel a little piece of me falls with them.

How can anyone live like this? With the prospect of eventually losing everything and everyone they hold dear?

It feels as though I am coming to grips with my own mortality and I cannot handle it. Life is too fragile and too painful to live to the fullest because living life to the fullest implies loving as much as possible and if you love the world you are going to lose the world, rendering life fragile and incomplete whether you do or do not.

I am fragile. I am weak. Nonetheless, the miracle of being me is something so profoundly unbelievable per chance that I should not exist. Actually, scientifically, the remote chances of me being me are so incredibly negligible that my sheer existence cannot be accounted for. The science of chance does not allow me to be me; however, that is who I am.

It is terrifying, is it not?

And so I cry whenever I think of you.
Because I miss you, I really do, and the pain welling up inside comes from losing your lovely smile and your warm embrace. You were a friend, and come what may, that is the way I shall remember you. Forever. Though, thinking of you makes me fear for my own fate. Were I stronger or weaker perhaps I would have the resolution in my hands. Were things not the way they are – had I not been myself – I either would have pulled through or gone out with a bang. As it is now I feel like I’m walking a tight-rope over Grand Canyon, a harsh and desert landscape without much color or change of scenery, with the ends tied to dry twigs on nearly uprooted trees.

It no longer matters how many times I watch the funny clips on YouTube. No longer can I loose myself completely in the Moonlight Sonata and the Csardas. Laughing feels hollow. Food gives no satisfaction. Drink doesn’t quench my thirst any longer. I try to develop insomnia in an attempt to not have to sleep and dream of you, of death, of pain. Actually, I have had some dreams involving you that were quite pleasant, but every time I woke up I had to go over the process of losing you again. And again. And again. And then someone else. And then someone other than that. And someone other than that. I think I have watched my entire family die in front of me in my sleep, in one way or another. So I try not to sleep.

There is a fear of death that I have never experienced before. I think, because before I was prepared. I could talk my way through it. I could think my way out of it. But you… I never realized losing you would hurt so much. Or make me understand so many things about myself. Or make me doubt myself even more.

And so I cry whenever I think of you. And with every tear I feel sanity dripping away from me. The ground shakes and moves and I dance hopscotch on my tightrope in order not to fall. And I find myself wishing I’d make a wrong step. Just a little step that would send me on my way; going out with a bang.

That would be nice. To just lie down and accept it. Or to just lie down and stop.

No more doubts. No more fears. No more pain.

Freddie was right: too much love will kill you.

Yet, I cannot go. I cannot do that. Because I love, and I love a lot and I love many. They love me, too, and they love me well. And I wouldn’t be able to leave them with as much pain as I am feeling, with all the fear and doubt I am experiencing. I don’t wish such horrors upon them, nor do I wish to see them cry over me.

So, I cry whenever I think of you. For all the pain you felt. For the hate that drowned you. For the love you couldn’t accept. For the choices you made.

For one sweet moment I got to know you. A short period of time, as one inexplicably unlikely creature to another, we shared a bond of friendship. I thank you for that. It meant more than I could ever express. Your eyes that scorched through the defences and your smile that silenced all arguments. Your angelic hair and your devilish sense of humour. Your potty mouth.

I miss you. And I miss your laugh, your voice, the playful comments and the nasty comments; and I miss the way you used to look at me whenever I said something you considered odd and I even miss the way you pinched my arm so hard it left bruises, because “it feels nice!”, you arse.

And so I cry for the moments we had. And for the moments we never got to share. And while I think I can understand you I also resent you for what you did. I hate you for the pain you caused me and my friends, and still I miss you so much and we cry because we never get to see you like we want to.

There is a sort of vacuum in my chest. Underneath my sternum, a bit to the right of my heart, there is a hole, a sort of suction that makes me feel as though my chest might implode. There I’ve placed you. There I have placed all my doubts, fears, hopes, loves and all the anger. It is filling itself up with itself.

I am not myself any longer, do you see?

And I cry whenever I think of you.

And I cannot help but wonder, in all this mess, if things were reversed, would you have cried for me?

I miss you.