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I went to turn the light on some things tonight, but all I saw was my own reflection, sorry about that. If you want to know what's it's like, I'll tell you now. There were throngs of people out and about doing their shopping, joyfully tossing down food, feeding each other crippling, boring conversation, plowing impatiently along in their cars going thru the same routine and motions of their lives, and days and seasons. You'd think they breathed the same breath over and over. It was warm and the sun was winter sweet and hanging just a bit tarnished like it could look down and self consciously see it's own shadow. And I got up late as usual, dazed and walking around with cautionary confusion of morning mouth and flailing hope. And I knew if I could just go somewhere and find some quiet away from the scrutiny of any and all eyes, I might be alright. And so I found my way to a park and looked at the bits of garbage strewn about, the trash can turned over, the worn mapped out lines for parking spaces, the rocks growing out of the grass and the hill, the carved up picnic tables. I looked at some trees, wiry and naked and at the sun sliding it's way down looking weary and crystalized, spiraling parched sighs, drooping and imperfect. I didn't have to say a word, just nodded quietly at the mechanics of it all. I don't know how many times we fought and swore at each other, the threats we made, the secrets we shared. The nights and days and drinks and insanity. The awful jokes and tough times, and near collisions with catastrophe. I only know this: What a horrible anniversary a friends death can be.
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