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.