Apparently even when I'm happy, that warm fuzzy emo side comes out to play....
The storm had settled off to the east leaving the water with a still cadence unlike any I had seen before. Most days when the rains leave, the waters stay choppy still reminding us that any moment could be riddled with stinging drops from the heavens. At the very least, the winds would linger with a biting chill. But not on this day. The air, like the waters below me, was still as a lioness stalking her prey. The greyed layers that lined the horizon started to mix with reds and pinks as the sun lowered behind the thinning clouds. I would not see the sun on this night, adding yet another day to the dozens like it before where the sun seemed nearly absent. Though I do believe to this day that those subtle tones of colour saved my life. Times had fallen into chaos and true despair in the previous weeks, and truly I needed anything resembling hope on which to grasp. On that night, 'twas that camouflage sunset that my hands held so tightly to. It kept my head above the water, so to speak.
It had been twenty-five days since my best friend drowned in the very waters that I stand over. He had been out past dark in his small vessel trying to bring in his crabbing cages. The rain snuck up on him, and like so many nights here the wind followed very near in step. They believe that the weight of him along with the cages were too much for the boat to navigate with the weather conditions as they were. His body was discovered the following morning by a local man who frequents a coastal hiking path. I could never bring myself to look at him. I regret that now. Every night since, I have gone to this short-ledged cliff overlooking the spot he would frequently drop his crabbing cages. I look for his face in the clouds. Most nights I just stare into the grey, and hide my tears in the autumn rains. With time though, the tears have become thoughts and I find myself wishing I could join my friend in his ocean-drenched grave. I have approached the ledge with intent more times than I care to recall. I wonder if it's my courage or fear that keeps my feet on ground.
Alone for so many years, without anyone whom I could truly call a friend, this time became most difficult. Coping with the loss of someone who so closely resembled my kin. My friend, closer than any family I have ever known, knew me better than even myself. That always scared me. But I realize now that this fear was in reality a love of sorts. When someone knows you so intimately, they are in essence a piece of you. The night he went away, I awoke midway to dawn with a stabbing pain in my chest. I would not understand until later that this was my friend's spirit being ripped from my heart. It has taken many sleepless nights, and I imagine that it shall take dozens more, but I pray that one day the bleeding will halt.
I ache for your friendship again, and I hope that you may salvage some corner of heaven old friend. With grace forever and a heart that shall wait for death to be whole again, I bid thee safe passage and good resting.
For my friend Galvin Deermer
Drake Trivier Gaentlet
1896
It had been twenty-five days since my best friend drowned in the very waters that I stand over. He had been out past dark in his small vessel trying to bring in his crabbing cages. The rain snuck up on him, and like so many nights here the wind followed very near in step. They believe that the weight of him along with the cages were too much for the boat to navigate with the weather conditions as they were. His body was discovered the following morning by a local man who frequents a coastal hiking path. I could never bring myself to look at him. I regret that now. Every night since, I have gone to this short-ledged cliff overlooking the spot he would frequently drop his crabbing cages. I look for his face in the clouds. Most nights I just stare into the grey, and hide my tears in the autumn rains. With time though, the tears have become thoughts and I find myself wishing I could join my friend in his ocean-drenched grave. I have approached the ledge with intent more times than I care to recall. I wonder if it's my courage or fear that keeps my feet on ground.
Alone for so many years, without anyone whom I could truly call a friend, this time became most difficult. Coping with the loss of someone who so closely resembled my kin. My friend, closer than any family I have ever known, knew me better than even myself. That always scared me. But I realize now that this fear was in reality a love of sorts. When someone knows you so intimately, they are in essence a piece of you. The night he went away, I awoke midway to dawn with a stabbing pain in my chest. I would not understand until later that this was my friend's spirit being ripped from my heart. It has taken many sleepless nights, and I imagine that it shall take dozens more, but I pray that one day the bleeding will halt.
I ache for your friendship again, and I hope that you may salvage some corner of heaven old friend. With grace forever and a heart that shall wait for death to be whole again, I bid thee safe passage and good resting.
For my friend Galvin Deermer
Drake Trivier Gaentlet
1896