Tyrell

Took the death of my friend to get me back into writing, it seems.
Here's some new stuff, I'm not sure if it's done.
Apparently, since I can't quite process and put into words what happened to Tyrell, I don't feel satisfied with whatever I write.
Nothing is complete, no titles feel right.

Here we go:

I haven’t been able to pick my troubling thoughts apart.
Knee-deep in sadness, I’ve lost myself somewhere between rushing you off the phone- and walking past your open casket.
If I could just sort through the almost forgotten memories and delayed resolutions, maybe I could…
An hour long conversation we once shared replays in my head and if I could, I’d beat myself up for not reaching out more often.
I hear another voice, a heartless one that whispers, “You two weren’t even that close.”
Do I even deserve to mourn for so long?
More than once I brushed you off, declining invites, conversations lacking.
But more than twice you made me laugh.
Laugh at me now as a guilt I can’t ignore weighs as heavy as the pain.
What needs to be understood Tyrell, is that when God snatched you- he snatched a piece of me too.
The joys of growing up are now tainted and like the wax surrendering to a candle’s flame, I give in to the brutal realization that my time here could be shorter than I ever imagined.


-franso

R.I.P brother, I don't know what to do with myself.