Words are not my forté, despite being my stock in trade.
On the 24th of June, 2011, my best friend was killed. I've written that a number of times now, and it hasn't gotten any easier. I met Kyle fourteen years ago. We were twelve, had just started junior high at Lincoln after less than stellar elementary school experiences. Sure, we were dorky, but together it was okay. We had our ups and downs in the first couple of years. We were scared, and uncertain, and at times lost, and we lashed out occasionally. But regardless of what happened, we always stayed friends. Later on, though, we grew as people and in so doing we grew together. We were inseperable in high school. I remember accidentally calling his home when I intended to call my own. I remember spending literally days at a time in each other's company. Silence between us was never awkward, but simply comfortable. Whatever I owned was his as well. It was he who brought me together with all of my old friends, so dear to me now. It was he who led the way, my pathbreaker, my guide. Without him I wouldn't have started the IB program, I would never have started debate, I would never have ran cross-country. He believed in me when I didn't believe in myself, and that more than anything made me the man I am today.
I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie here forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure they would not sever
My apple tree, my brightness,
It's time we were together
For I smell by the Earth,
And I'm worn by the weather.
When my family think
That I'm safely in my bed
Oh, from morn until night
I am stretched out at your head
Calling out unto the earth
With tears hot and wild
For the loss of a man
That I loved as a child.
Oh, the priests and the friars
They approach me in dread
Oh, for I love you still
Oh, my life, and you're dead
I still will be your shelter
Through rain and through storm
And with you in your cold grave
I cannot sleep warm.
I've idolized Kyle for as long as I've known him. He was my invincible golden god, my hetero life partner, the one person I've ever known who never judged me. I could tell him anything, and I did. It's been a long time since I've had the privilige of seeing him every day. I moved away for college at eighteen and never really came back for any length of time. This geographical seperation attenuated some friendships and ended others, but made no impact whatsoever on me and Kyle. I talked to him every day, in Miami, in Germany, in Chapel Hill, in the Czech Republic. He was like gravity, like waking up every morning secure in the knowledge that one's right arm is firmly connected to one's shoulder. In many ways, he was the foundation upon which I had built my life. And now he's gone, and I feel his absence in a thousand different ways and in a thousand different places. I imagine I always will.
I like to think of you as brown and tall,
As strong and living as you used to be,
Because they tell me, dear, that you are dead,
Because I can no longer see your face,
You have not died, it is not true, instead,
You seek adventure some other place.
I hear you laughing as you used to,
Yet loving all the things I think of you;
And knowing you are happy, should I grieve?
You follow and are watchful where I go;
How should you leave me, having loved me so?
We walked along the towpath, you and I,
Beside the sluggish-moving, still canal;
It seemed impossible that you should die;
I think of you the same and always shall.
We thought of many things and spoke of few,
And life lay all uncertainly before,
And now I walk alone and think of you,
And wonder what new kingdoms you explore.
Over the railway line, across the grass,
While up above the golden wings are spread,
Flying, ever flying overhead,
Here still I see your golden figure pass,
And when I leave the meadow, almost wait,
That you should open first the wooden gate.
