My god. Two years and counting now. I think of you everyday. I thought of you everyday when you were alive, so why should now be any different? Because now I know I won't casually bump into you in the street, I won't have to worry about where you're sleeping, or if you're eating, or if you're drinking again. Drinking again, it's a funny phrase, because you never really stopped. But I loved you. I loved you drunk, I loved you sober, I loved you angry, I loved you funny, I loved your kindness, your clarity, your heart and your genius. You touched my life more than anyone he introduced me to, and for that I know why I met him. You were spectacular in your simplicity. You were the most intelligent being I have ever had the chance to be close to. Your intelligence, in retrospect, killed you. Few people could have withstood the ferocity of your mind, Trent, and you held on for 34 years, I admire that. I'll tell you a secret. I was so in love with you that I ached. I still ache. I ached for you then as I do now, because you were untouchable. You were never really here with us, down here, so even had you noticed my undying love for you, I never really would have mattered. But at least you would have been surprised, because I think you believed I didn't think very highly of you. I love you, Trent. I miss you feverishly, I have tried so hard to immortalize you, because for me, you will never really be gone. Not forever. Never forever. God. Why, Trent? Why? You knew how stupid it was, you knew. I can't help but feel as if I contributed somehow, my intolerance, my impatience, my ignorance. I couldn't stand by and watch you kill yourself. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I only wish you knew how I felt before you died. Before you left this place, so bereft of your light and even your dark. Your absolute dark. How I abhorred your dark places. How enchanted I was by them. How monstrous you could be, how frightening. How I loved the spectacle of you, the wind that was you, the storm that wore your face and answered to your name. You are such a bastard to deny us. You are such a bastard. God how I miss you.
Memorials, Second Quarter 2002 | Main Index, Memorials
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