(no subject)
The hold that your death maintains around my neck every time I sit out on my porch smoking a stog brings me to the edge of my strength. I am weeping for you. A feat not many have claimed from the clutches of my fortitude. The moment I started typing the tears returned. Everything is an illusion now. the keys in which my fingers dictate my sadness upon are soaked in the tears that I am having to wipe from my face just to be able to see them. I miss you. I wallow in your absence. I struggle through every memory. Yet all I can ever think about is you telling me to never do any action because or for you as you would never for me. Your honesty is what assured me of our friendship. I have never felt so tested. My face is cold as the unforgiving seasonal change blows upon the condensation of my heart. Where do i go from here? How do I confirm the bond in my heart without you here to prove that it is real. I want to keep smoking on this porch till my lungs give out. I don't want to be able to breathe just so i can see what it is like to never be able to inhale this world anymore. Just for an instant I want to see you so that you can remind me how stupid it is to miss you. This morning I sat there on the back of Tundy, rolling my top just like we had many times before when the porch just seemed to cliche for the time being. It was real early morning. The time when the sun isn't to much to stare right into. The wholeness of it was blotched as it burned through the trees. I stared it down as long as my attention to the moment would let me.