Looking at him falling,
I wonder what he thought, if he thought. Or if
it was just a mad dash, an act of last resort.
Closing in.
It must have happened so fast.
T T
w w
i i
s
t t
i i
a n d n
g turning
a terminal velocity, a violent end.
Whether cut short, or run its course
it was his choice regardless,
we’re one in the same.
I think I miss the dreams the most.
All San Francisco fog and New Mexico heat lightning, the honest glimpse of a false future.
But upon waking, I remember him, and how it must of felt,
to burst through that window, succumb to fate.
“You don’t know how you make people feel!”
I don’t know how I make myself feel.
He was, in retrospect, the harbinger
of cynicism that would later manifest
in quiet exits and late walks home.
Purposeful, yet regrettable.
I may be on the same track,
I just hope I don’t land on my head.