I think that I am still in shock. Nothing seems to make sense to me. I have seen the grave, yet it all eludes me. I think of my own death almost constantly, now unsure of my previous belief that I would die before __. Perhaps, after, that did come true.
Even my life’s present turmoil seems tiny. It can’t be David – my mind and heart cry – David, David, David! No, that’s too close.
I think of those that did this, that took him, and feel at most, pity. One or two brief spasms of rage have passed, but mostly pity. Perhaps that, too, is a stage.
A torrent fills my soul; a storm occupies the space where my heart once was; a blistering migraine has replaced my brain. I feel nothing. A sickness coming over me that needs to be expelled, exorcised – an anger, a grief I don’t dare feel for by god I’ll supernova.
His songs are in my ears and on my lips – ones I wanted to record – we – but now couldn’t possibly.
I’m stuck in a re-run I can’t turn off.
1995-0502