I didn’t sleep last night, not one pathetic moment of lost consciousness-anything to forget; anything for paralysis; still I tick; still I remember. The thought that haunts me like a translucent spirit flying it’s way through my past. My memories tainted with your dark voice, one that would have been smoother without the excess of your choices. I remember sitting in class trying to absorb every word that took an exit directly through your mouth. Driving down the express way of your mind and it’s knowledge. I remember the days we worked so hard together to get to where I am now, and all I have learned. The tiniest of classrooms, the biggest strides were taken inside. The most crucial things you said are simple lessons in life. Such as, to breathe, because the truth is we all forget once in a while. If there was a person I ever thought was perfect it was the person you became when you taught. Was this all a figment of my imagination, this human being? A mask worn, and simply torn off? Or were you once different.
It all started when you stopped showing up for class. How does one tend to learn without another? One does not. The thought occurs to me again, slipping inside of my visual of the past, I cannot think straight. I picked you up in the empty Church parking lot, little did I know you were more vacant than the absence of parked cars around you. Where was the priest that day? Praying for some souls, praying for all souls, he must have forgotten yours. We should have gone inside that Church instead of driving around town, you needed the healing of your soul more than a light lunch. But I refused to acknowledge a higher power when the leaves were turning colors, there was something too logical about those times. Why did I ever pick you up that day? To listen to the things you had to say? I just needed you to fix what was wrong with me, believing you could, after all you had successfully healed what I had thought was broken the year before with your brain. With the things you had to say. Wisdom leaked through the pipes of your head those months, raining out onto the concrete surrounding you. I don’t believe it will ever return; not this late in our lives. It seems so long ago that I could sit in the darkness of the room with high ceilings, a candle in the middle of our circle, with my head down, to pray and cry. To share secrets, to share pain, to share happiness, to share intentions. I lost track of when we stopped having those prayer circles, but the last one I remember was with you, was it you that kept those going? Is the reason I lack strength in the group now because we don’t pray together? Was it always you, and no one ever realize it? It doesn’t matter now.
The wind blew strong, healthy at it’s peak when the earth lay covered with a layer of milky tone. The bracelet lay around my wrist, the one that now is lost, one I will never carry the privilege of owning again. We stood in the cemetery and it had never been so frozen over, why couldn’t you feel the cold? Your coat lay around my shoulders, staring at the tomb that withheld your late friends ashes. Even in the icebox the tree continued to grow with it’s green leaves, nothing could **** it, it was surrounded by dead people. Of course it was inspired to grow through the winter. That tree must have stolen the life out from underneath your skin, because you died in the heat of the moment, when you lost your friend. My teacher lost in the desert, parched of life and feeding on the hottest air. My teacher who turned into my friend who turned into a stranger who turned into thy own enemy.
When you lost yourself I wrote it all down on paper, how the day in the cemetery was the day that saved my life. I’d like to give you the credit, but you wouldn’t take it if I handed it to you on a golden platter. You wouldn’t accept the pedestal I put you up on if it meant life or death. After that day, when you stopped talking to me, I continued to learn from your teachings. What I learned was that disappointment may come in many forms, flesh appealing or earthly upbringings. I remind myself of the day in that Church parking lot every once in a while, how I should have passed you by instead of pulling over. There is a thought that consumes me, eating away at my mind, coming to know that nothing is better than knowing the truth until the truth destroys your perception of perfection in a human being. I pray your breathing soul will rest in peace, you died so long ago.