I juiced the oranges
That grew from my limbs
And poked holes to drain sap from my shins
With needles and pins

You suckled from the fruit
Forbidden, it be
And leached life from this succulent tree
No scrapes on your knees

Tangled vines sprouted up
Took hold on my throat
And my small branches, one by one broke
Along with my hope

Do not follow me, dear
Into these woods, thick
The darkness will creep up on you quick
It's only a trick

Matt,

I still see you as an obnoxious, 6'2, fifteen year old goofball.
Is that weird?
To hold that image of you in my head?
I was eight years old when you were fifteen.
One time, you pretended to eat my cat and I cried.
"MATT, WHY WOULD YOU EAT ANGEL?!"
"Leigh, I didn't really! Look, he's right here!"
My earliest memory of you.
A fond one at that.


You and my brother were close.
Roughhoused together...
Played every-kind-of-ball together...
Grew up together.

Our fathers have always been close, so naturally their sons would be.

Your dad still calls mine
"my dearest friend".
They coached alongside each other for years.
And who did they coach?
You.
My brother.
Kids who needed a guiding hand.

You stood out.

(Of course you did, you were six feet tall by freshman year!)

You controlled the basketball court like no one else.
Rebounds, ball handling, 3-pointers;
You could do it all.
There was no stopping you...
Oh yeah, you made the team what it was.
How many career points?
Over 3,000?
Something like that.

You were a star off of the court, too.
Everyone looked towards you for a quick joke.
You were funny, man.
Your laugh was infectious, your smile was luminescent.
You'd ******' light up New York City.
No, you weren't the brightest guy...
And your dad never let you forget it.
But you tried.


I wish you could see your family now.
I hadn't seen your parents and brothers in ages.
Parker's no longer that chubby, quiet kid, huh?
Rob is as thin as ever, quiet as well.
Your mom is as beautiful as I remember her to be.
Your dad hasn't changed a bit.
No, I take that back...
He was crying.
All 6'8 of him pulled my 5'2 father into a hug.
"Come here, my dearest friend."
My father cried.
I haven't seen that man cry in years.
And now both of them are crying over you.
Over how beautiful, remarkable, and loved you were.
There were a ton of people there, also crying for the same reasons.

You were so valued.

I wish you would've known that.

So long, Matt.
Until we meet again...

-Leigh

I am afraid,
in a way I haven't been before.

I am afraid
of the way people fall out of the sky,

I am afraid
of the way people disappear into the sea

without saying goodbye;
Suddenly the loss
feels like a snake

slithering from across the room;
venom in his blood
and names on his tongue.

I am afraid
of the way people find themselves
at the bottom of the barrel.

And I
am scraping
at the end of it.