Sometimes, often, it’s much too difficult to write. I’m back in a state of distance, I think, but the last three weeks have been impossibly difficult. It all becomes so very disturbingly real.
On the seventh, I went to your grave. Six months. Just yesterday. There’s a benefit concerned planned for the sixteenth with the proceeds going to the production of your music.
It’s almost sick.
I don’t always feel that way, I’m just incredibly lonely right now.
You were always there – an open front door, an extra bedroom.
5:26 pm on Saturday (9/9), as I was at my Mac, spaced out a bit, I felt you. It was like I only noticed because you were leaving. I felt so good for the next few hours.
1995-0912