Forever you have been the opposite side
of the coin that is us.
Brazen with life and love and anger
where I am alight with the same,
though in different measured amounts.
We don't finish each other's sentences,
and there exists no reason why we should.
But we do share the same content in our
bold paragraphs, the same feed in our blood.

Blood.

Blood was never a choice, but friendship is,
and you are unique in that we share both.
You are a brother, a confidant, a partner in crime,
a friend, a conspirator, a business partner,
and so much more.
People remark about the nature of our bond,
and admittedly they get it wrong often,
but they remark frequently.
Too close to be normal,
too extraordinary to be labeled.

Follow where I lead and I will
follow your lead.
Such is our nature.
We seem two circling wolves.
We seem to vie for dominance.
How is it then that we are both and neither?

Who could I trust more with my secrets?
Who could I trust more with my life?
Who could I trust more with my lies?

So we circle.
So we vie.
So we live.
So we die.

Because I don't know how I will tell you,
or because I don't know if I am strong enough
to fight for the words,
I will say this:

When I was young I learned about tragedy.
I learned about loss on a scale that is unimaginable
unless you are there to see it, to breath it
and to be a sad living part of it.
I learned about hope, and courage,
and how the ordinary are extraordinary.
I learned that life is not a series of
tragic events, but a moment within where
you can find love and absolution.

How can I make you understand that this wasn't what
I wanted for you?
I didn't want to you to grow up in a world
that had once been so crippled by fear and
hate and pain and loss.
I wanted to give you the gift of peace,
like my parents wanted to give me.

How can I tell you that evil does not have a face,
but it does have an intention?
How can you possibly understand that
when everything is horrible we stand together
in the middle and embrace one another?
How?

There is so much that you will never see,
that I pray you will never have to learn.
What I want you to know,
indeed what I am struggling to tell you,
is that when everything seems darkest,
when everything is blood and dust and pain
and death, it is then, in that moment,
when we must
Hope the most.
It is then when we must
Love unconditionally.
It is then when we must always
be willing to let ourselves dream.

Because I don't know how to tell you,
because I don't want you to have to learn,
because I love you.

Put upon me, if there are things
that will fit
(once there),
all the issues that you have saved,
for later days and open ended calls,
that must be solved.

If it were simple, and we both
know it is not,
then I expect that most would
have told you
(by now at the
very least)
how it really ought to
have turned out.

You have impressed me with your
perfect imperfections and I can only hope,
each held breath is anticipation of our
day, that you will find in me
broken pieces of a man
which you will adore
(in kind.)

We are all blind through this life.
Heads held high or low, or which ever way
keeps them out of sight, so that we may be
seen and not feared.
But in this blindness we are two,
where one would probably do,
and there is so little
(about that)
worth changing.

You'll always be twenty-three.
Always.
And that kills me.
You were older than me.
Now...

******* the futility of it all.
******* ******* it all!
I wish that I could punch a hole
in the world with my words and
find you.
I wish you knew.

I just wanted to tell you..
I just thought you needed to know,
at least once before everything is
broken headlights and crushed
tomorrows.
Blood and pavement and a median.
Crushed glass and a world
standing hollow without you.
I wish you knew.

I think I loved you once.
Think.
Coward.
I need to find you some days.
**** this tired world and it's
arbitrary thefts.

Your name should have a million hits a day.
You should have been...
My god how brilliant you were.
Like a jewel and like a genius.
You should have been forever.

I guess, in a way, you are.

You were a part of my life,
and a much bigger part than I ever would
have had you believe.
Did you know that? Had you figured it out?
Perhaps not.

A year since. Fifty-two weeks.
More in fact.
It was May.
Day after my brother's birthday.

******* it.

You were older than me.
October to my November.
One month that you lorded over me.
One month.

You'll always be twenty-three.
Always.
Forever.
Now...

Find in those dark places
the spot of light.
The driest spot in a damp place.
The warmth inside this bleak cold.

Find in yourself the beauty I see.
How every freckle is a road map
for my mouth to yours.
How each white hair you find
is another moment I would never trade.

Find in me the purpose that I struggle with.
Take my hand and lead me
to the place atop that hill where
all the turmoil will finally be answers
to my endless questions.

Find me, if you are of a mind to look.
I have searched your eyes for
my own reflection, and on the
rarest and happiest moments,
I have even discovered me there.

If discovered, and one so hopes it will be,
I can promise you that I will in turn,
with every ounce within,
find you.

There is purpose in truth,
but no truth in purpose.
Every course set is the perfect
opportunity to take the wrong turn.
Life is not precious, and certainly not protected.
Living is both these things,
and for good reason.
Interaction through a phone is
fine for the moment,
but strap an embellished bed sheet to your
back and jump from a plane
and call it forever.
Find in yourself the spun steel which has
always been part of who you are.
Reach for the things that are denied you,
because no oath is more powerful than the
ones which are occasionally broken.
Fight your ingrained faith,
but never lose your principles.
There are millions of people who
will sit in millions of dusty corners of this
world and examine life,
and so pitiful few that will prove it.
There exists no boundaries.

Regret is a cornerstone on which we have built a lifetime.
Forced from shelter into life,
we live as though mistakes are not expected.
Show me the man,
who at the end of his life,
does not look back and wonder.
Were it not so easy to dwell on our missteps
we would have no room to grow.
We will never reach out and find that we have
always had perfect teeth,
proper endings,
promises kept.
We are small.
We are considerably broken.
Therein is our most valuable attribute.
We are people, **** it.
Whole and complete, with mistakes made,
doors slammed shut and no path but to the grave.
And how magical is that?
Live, always and everyday,
with the past behind you.
Tomorrow there are a million more mistakes
never to make again.
And marvel , my friend,
the glory of being small and considerably broken.