This is for me.
I saw him once more, at home anyway, as per usual, he didn't have a whole lot to say. He asked me about work, about the house, about the norm.
He asked me.
We hung out (well, he probably had different terminology), he was awake, he was asleep. He was there.
He asked me to go up to his room and pick up two books for him. "The Great Coming Battle" and "The Creature from Jekyll Island". I figured, If I was confined to a chair, I'd want to read too. He gave the books to me and asked me to read them. I was ecstatic, elated. I thought, finally, some sort of wisdom, something to be passed down. It turns out, they were Government Conspiracy books and how the Federal Government was giving it's people the shaft.
It lost meaning. That is, until the showing, the funeral, the talks, the bullshit, the fake fucks who show up to get attention. I learned more about him in those two days than I did in 22 years.
It's been hard trying to live a lifetime (at least mine) worth of relationship in a few years (since he'd been sick). I tried. I think we got it.
I learned alot. I learned about how much he not only loved me, but respected me and LIKED me. That was something I wasn't used to.
When he was there, alone, in that room with that guy who coughed and talked about his damn sores, he wanted to hold my hand. I swear, that's never happened before, not as a kid, not as a teen, never as an adult.
It hasn't quite hit me consciously, I haven't been drinking to forget, I've been drinking to remember. To live out some of the glory days I know I should be having, similar to the ones he had. To have stories to tell, lies to live, love.
So, sleep well dear brother, on Primrose lane and in love's good name.
He asked me.
We hung out (well, he probably had different terminology), he was awake, he was asleep. He was there.
He asked me to go up to his room and pick up two books for him. "The Great Coming Battle" and "The Creature from Jekyll Island". I figured, If I was confined to a chair, I'd want to read too. He gave the books to me and asked me to read them. I was ecstatic, elated. I thought, finally, some sort of wisdom, something to be passed down. It turns out, they were Government Conspiracy books and how the Federal Government was giving it's people the shaft.
It lost meaning. That is, until the showing, the funeral, the talks, the bullshit, the fake fucks who show up to get attention. I learned more about him in those two days than I did in 22 years.
It's been hard trying to live a lifetime (at least mine) worth of relationship in a few years (since he'd been sick). I tried. I think we got it.
I learned alot. I learned about how much he not only loved me, but respected me and LIKED me. That was something I wasn't used to.
When he was there, alone, in that room with that guy who coughed and talked about his damn sores, he wanted to hold my hand. I swear, that's never happened before, not as a kid, not as a teen, never as an adult.
It hasn't quite hit me consciously, I haven't been drinking to forget, I've been drinking to remember. To live out some of the glory days I know I should be having, similar to the ones he had. To have stories to tell, lies to live, love.
So, sleep well dear brother, on Primrose lane and in love's good name.