Half way.

I would like to sit you down, half way on your lap, half way standing up, and half way tell you I love you. I would like to say "I love...", and see if your arms or eyes tighten, then end as if I meant to say I love the fall. Or how I love the beach, or sunrises or the way the world keeps turning even when you have nothing to live for.

But I would like to tell you, that I love your eyes, and how I half way stare at them and try to decipher the emotions you keep hidden so deep. I would like to say that I love your body, and the way that your limbs sway together when you walk. Or your long torso and how you always seem so stiff. I would like to whisper that I would love to be the one to make you and your mask fall. I would love to be the one you let in.

I would half way meet you in the middle, and have you kiss me first, so I knew I was allowed, following what would happen.

I love the music you make me want to play, and the things you make me want to say. I love that half way close to you is never enough for me.

George.

This is a work in progress, but also a tribute to my uncle, George Best, who died at age 44, 2 years ago. We will love you, always.

I'd like to thank you for drinking, and not shaving. The time you went to the war, with your heart left behind with her. I'd like to thank you for putting faith in love, even though it left you cold and alone. I'd like to thank you for giving up everything for someone else.

The way you hugged me and I could see the love in your eyes. The way you always smelled of your own scent of beer, tequila and something else. The way I now think of you whenever I see soldiers, or guitars, and uncles. The way you sounded like Dr. Hook, and used to sing his songs to us.

I'd like to thank Sylvia's Mother, for making you put in 40 cents every 3 minutes to the telephone.

Your raspy voice, the voice of hardships, and broken hearts, and lots and lots of beer, was always a comfort to us all. You were our protector. I'd like to thank you for loving me, and playing with me, and making me feel special.

But mostly, I'd like to thank you for the strength you gave me after you died. That night they woke me up and told me, on your little sister's wedding night, you were there and you gave me the strength to hold up my family. They couldn't stand on their own without you. I'd like to thank you for the memories, and the songs, and being the best uncle there ever was.

Me.

for SS.


I'm not you. Nor am I the girl you now hold close to you late at night. I'm not the color of sunshine, who talks of changing the world. I'm not the color of love, or lust, or even jealousy. I'm not what you call 'broken'.
I am your vision. I am your drifting thoughts through the night. I am made of pain and guilt. Dead, the day you walked out the door and left me with nothing but the darkness to occupy my heart.
I'm not her because you wouldn't let me. You wouldn't let me stay next to you to count the days until death came for us. But if you had, it would have cast its long shadow on day and night, wrapped in each other's arms. Wrapped up in each other's hearts. Until our threads of time came tumbling down, with the slightest push, to reveal his scythe
And the years would have had us, day after day, more content with each other and the experiences we drank up.
But I'm not you, or me, or her. I am pain and guilt and time. The remaining shards of your life and mine, and the monuments we had built. I am gone.

1.

Silence in the absence of fire.

A density of things-

we could never say.

I can't promise you my heart.

But I'll love you any way I can.

Love is all around.

Love is all around.