In memory of

My friend, this is to you, this is your poem
I owe it to you to tell our story after four years lived in the rhythm of each other’s breath, Measured in the distances between our clutched hands that wouldn’t let go,
The numberless countdowns of all the lines we’ve ever walked together
We smoked each other to the very end, till we burned our nicotine yellow fingers,
We cried our translucent eyes dry,
We danced on wires over the abyss of our raging truth,
We counted time in a night’s one thousand sinful embraces praying that the dawn never breaks again
So this is it, my friend, this is the point of no return
Close your eyes and kiss me one last time
So that I can turn the softness of your lips into a poem
So that I can turn our life into blank verse
So that we can put an end to the dream and forget we ever dared to dream in the first place
So that we can turn the lights off on this utopia of ours and understand that life doesn’t make sense, that love doesn’t save, not even when it’s true, that we didn’t have the answer
So that we can hit our heads on this disappointment and spend the rest of our lives recovering from the shock, taking it out on our unfortunate random companions
So that I can learn to live in a world where you’re not mine, no smiles, no safety nets and no Iloveyous, just all this white, complete, tasteless freedom that I have to learn to move within