I never thought tonight could ever be this close to me…

faron.chris.layne 1987

I paid the money to get a list of addresses. There has been an itch within, a need to find you, to talk to you… I could ignore it sometimes, let it fade to the background, but it would always rise to the surface again and I’d dig through the internet to find a sign of you.
This time, I gave in and decided that I needed to do a real search, a paid search engine with addresses and phone numbers. I was too scared to call. I sent a letter.
That was November 12th, 2007.

She tells me that you were in the hospital then. I hope somehow the letter found you.

We lost each other through every fault of my own. I’ve beaten myself up over it many times, and apologized from a distance so often… that pain’s a familiar ache. I was weak, I was possessed by the captor of my torturer, a victim and an accessory all at once. The poster child for Stockholm Syndrome, that was me, and I fully admit my role in it. I struggle to forgive myself for this every single day of my life. I’m sorry. I was abused, and I hurt those who cared about me in return. I’m sorry.

Just try to see in the dark
Just try to make it work
To feel the fear before you’re here
I make the shapes come much too close
I pull my eyes out
Hold my breath
And wait until I shake

Whenever I see the Robert Smith that was, the sneaking spikey-haired imp behind Siouxsie in the “Dear Prudence” video – I remember you.
When I find a leaf on a ground, a secret from the tree to any who has eyes to see it – I remember you.
I wouldn’t love half the music that I do if not for you.
I have letters that you wrote me when you left for North Carolina. I know now why you wanted me to come here. I was too lost then, but I remember you now when I drive past the great meadows filled with kudzu.

But if I had your faith
Then I could make it safe and clean
If only I was sure
That my head on the door was a dream

She told me that you left here on March 8th.
Here’s what I wrote in my paper journal – yes, I still keep one! – on March 6th:

“Tonight, the feeling of flying down the road while singing, being carried away by the music – trying to remember it all, burn it to my brain… but where will that go when my body is no more? will I have gathered it only for my own amusement?
Where will it go, will it disappear with me?

Perhaps that’s too much to think on – that not only will I cease to exist [and the world go on without me, seamlessly] but all that I’ve seen, all I’ve learned and felt and experienced – it could all be destroyed.
It never mattered, except to me. None of the beautiful scenes or tender moments or any of it.”

She’s always astounded me, you know… she seems to remember everything, and I only remember bits and pieces, those very pieces that I lament being lost when I am. I never understood how we all went through what we did, yet she can recall outfits and whole conversations. It’s amazing to me, I envy it.

However, those precious bits that I do hold close mean everything to me, and you live on through them.

  • lying in that graveyard in Upperco, drunk and taking ridiculous photos
  • getting ready to go out, at Bobby’s apartment, New Order videos on the TV
  • our willow wands that we went to find in the darkness
  • bauernschmidt manor
  • shawn. me. you. trouble. heh.
  • the psychic hotline

Oh, those are just a few things, just a tiny bit of all I remember of you.

Your Vasilisa is much braver now then she was. I would stand up to the bullies now, when then I could not. I would assert what I felt and believed. I wouldn’t have left.

I wish you knew that, or maybe you do.

I write, as openly as possible, about my experiences with life, love, creativity, depression and not-depression. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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