I didn't know him. Not really.
No one did as everyone fooled themselves into loving the idea of him.
Fooled by the shameless shard of glass protruding mercilessly from ancient cracks in the sidewalk,
That slips its way seamlessly into what we've believed was hardened skin, rippled with paths we thought were knowledge.
For a moment, it's the most painful thing we've experienced, this penetration, this shock.
That's how I loved him. Shockingly. Instantaneously. Against the grain and thoroughly.
You don't feel it as much, when you expect it. When you slip the glass in yourself.
It can be a comfort, that's true. Another falsehood when all you find are ghosts.
Until the devilish jester begs the question, was it ever real?
What did it feel like?
Why didn't I look harder to memorize the features of a face I loved?
And you'll find you spend the rest of your days walking barefoot on crooked sidewalks.