Those kinds of souls always do–the best ones. The ones who rise up and say, “I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come.” Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places. This one was sent out by the breath of accordion, the odd taste of champagne in summer, and the art of promise-keeping. He lay in my arms and rested. There was an itchy lung for a last cigarette and an immense, magnetic pull toward the basement, for the girl who was his daughter and was writing a book down there that he hoped to read one day.
His soul whispered it as I carried him. But there was no Liesel in that house. Not for me, anyway.
if i die young
bury me in satin
lay me down on a bed of r o s e s
sink me in the river at d a w n
send me away with the words of a l o v e song…
The answer to each of these questions interests me very much, though I cannot allow them to seduce me
Recollections like those merely remind me that he was not deserving of the fate that met him a little under two years later
A SMALL BUT NOTE WORTHY NOTE
I’ve seen so many young men over the years who think they’re running at other young men. They are not. They’re running at me