I wish I had heard you died. I wish someone would have broken it to me gently. But I got the sudden thought of you, looked you up, and it said deceased. I think I knew it was coming. The world swallows people like you. You become the forgotten. But I won’t forget you. You said we were kindred spirits and I thought, “oh well of course, I’m kindred with the crazy.” But as much as I wanted to write you off to the nut house, was as much as I believed that we truly were.

Those stories, those details of your life, I don’t know if they were real. But they were part of you. They were part of the artwork you were creating. They flowed like colors from your mouth, through the air, into my soul. You could see the artist in me. You knew that I was hiding. You’d grab my hand and say something inspirational, and I would be good to go for a couple days. And I would take all of those late night phone calls that i never answered. I wouldn’t mind those long drawn out messages you left me that I rarely listened to. Just to know that things got better for you. Just to shake of that sinking feeling that your end didn’t come so peacefully.

so what do we do now cynthia. how do I take you with me? because i know you’re there. you’re the good energy i feel, you’re the particles in the air. how do i make sure that i’m not the only person that feels your absence?