+ gone +

I had a dream that you were there,
and when I woke I thought that you were gone.
Strange.

I couldn’t tell what was reality any more; whether you had actually left and my sixth sense was hauntingly accurate, or whether I was simply overthinking out of my longing for you.

I sat there for a while.
I sat there, and let myself think that you were gone.
I was frightened, but also peculiarly at ease, because I knew that the fateful day would come eventually.

And now I sit here, fretting.
I want to call home, to know.
But I don’t want to
(know).

It makes me think that I’ve been taking things for granted all along, that phone calls are merely just a window for me to ‘relieve’ myself of my tensions and my worries. Rarely do I let the other party reciprocate that privilege.

For first time in my life do I realise how important it is to call home,
to make myself present,
for them,
and not me.

For them to know that no,
I’m here,
and not
gone.

 

+ at last, sir terry, we must walk together +

“Terry took Death’s arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.”