The time I spend away from this blog grows.
I don’t want to write here, but I will.
I want to extend that time even more, but the voices still plague me.
Voices say you can’t walk.
Voices say you tell yourself “I’m the only one I would want.”
As far as I’ve come along, I should know none of it is true.
But I remember you telling me about some “degenerative bone disease,” And I spiral.
What if it’s true? And now you’re pushing someone else away, and if he’s so wonderful, as you described him, he’d want to offer his aid to you.
Unless he’s wonderful in a way that means he does everything you want, follows your every command.
The scenarios come, and I think or I see these visions of me on the red carpet with my wheelchair bound wife, taking pictures, food for the paparazzi.
They say you’d never want me to “become someone” and then they say “he already was.”
They’ve been saying a lot in these almost two weeks.
But I suppose it matters not.
I spent Saturday in the super market trying to buy every tea imaginable for my girlfriend.
She doesn’t like mint tea though, so I put it back.
She says it reminds her of toothpaste.
There’s a lot that I wish was different about all of this, but I don’t think mentioning it will make it come true.
Sometimes I think, if you committed suicide, or we’re going to, the least you could do or would do is send me one last letter, email, message to remember you by, and eventually discard, forever.
Adieu.