I named one of my favorite possessions after you, Eric. It’s been six years since you died, yet you linger in every room I enter and I feel your spirit fill some of the hollowness that my still deflated existence carries.
I sigh dejectedly as I hear your laugh echo and slowly begin to fade away in the back of my mind. My current reality feels poisonous, so as per usual I cling to the memory of your laugh until it dissipates into thin air and I’m left staring at my broken house that I haven’t even attempted to disguise as a home.
Moving on and attempting to reintegrate myself into this large and confusing world has been the most difficult thing I have ever known. I went from getting beat by those around me and having a sturdy and reassuring voice to assist me in thinking practically and calmly, to surrounding myself with a sea of lovers in an effort to study and embrace people the way you once did.
We spoke often of how it’s so beautiful that no two people are alike, how we all have our own way of thinking, dreaming, acting, crying and existing. You spoke often of how I am my own entity, how my thoughts will always belong to me and me alone.
Every since you left, the words you once said are the majority of my thoughts. I hear your voice encouraging me when all those around me shatter themselves for lack of anything better to do and I find that I’m injured because of their inability to hurt until it doesn’t anymore.
When you let it all build up, when you fail to communicate, when you don’t express your thoughts on paper or via some artistic way of being, you will eventually break. When this happens, you will shatter, and all those who dare love you even knowing you are withdrawn are trust no one at all.. they will hurt infinitely more times than you ever could.
I’m rambling, I know. I miss the way that you allowed me to charter on for seemingly light years, never interrupting, sometimes even keeping a notebook in your lap so you can write down comments regarding my musings that you read back and explained to me once I was done pouring the contents of my mind out to a soul that knew me so well, and yet somehow always provided honest and unbiased conversation.
After your body fell deep underground and your soul rose up just high enough to linger near the ground that I continue to stand upon, it finally made sense to me. You kept getting higher and higher while you were still on the same plane as me and eventually when you passed your spirit was unable to absorb all the substances you allowed into your system. I believe this allowed you to exist as high as you wanted. I wish that it didn’t take reaching apart of the afterlife to finally be high enough in your eyes, but you always did know things that I didn’t. Maybe you have it right, somehow.
- Emerald Evermore
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