The Guestbook

It was the beginning of the same night we shared this time last month and the same one you forgot. “It’s okay”, I’d always say. Because I missed you more than I could possibly be mad at you.

Thinking it might be okay to feel this all encompassing ‘okayness’ with you, as long as it may last, allowed me some leverage in tapping into my reserve energy. I had a feeling I would need this very soon. Still somewhat in the midst of crawling out of this earthly tomb over here. I kept my eyes fixed, my heart open and all future chances and possibilities mutable. Much like the wind, they would pass me by, always coming again. I know you’re scared. “It probably sounds weird.” Truly, it is. I enjoyed the irrelevance in the end.

Maybe you were something new to me, then. Meanwhile you’ve become my very best friend. Twin flames making an eternal amends. Still driving me mad with shady dealings and shitty friends, but I can’t really be too upset. It doesn’t seem to stop the loneliness crept however silently into each leave of absence. Taking the back roads to a late lunch. “Back to the labs, it seems.” We have to test much. Please refer to the Treatise, guestbook. In which you feverishly inscribed, a factful rendition of the Twelve Tribes. In remembrance of once brighter days with newly beaten down luck. And I couldn’t help but give a fuck. From back pay to your little white truck. As life permitted, you were chosen most of all. And I’m thinking back now it must have been around the time you went awal. You’re still picking me up when I fall and with you I’m wondering how I can remember it all.

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