you beautiful corpse

It wasn’t anything outstanding, none of the great flashes or sudden bursts we’ve been taught to expect from moments like this. Such things enter our collective consciousness not to illustrate any kind of norm but by virtue of their sheer rarity. Much as I prayed to, I never did wake up some morning with my mind suddenly firm and my heart clean and empty. No trumpeting epiphanies, no flame of wisdom from on high. These past months I’ve settled myself to tiny victories. These, I have decided, are the most I can ask for without crippling myself under the embarrassment of begging.

I cried last night. I didn’t mean to; I never mean to. I pride myself on being uncomplicated, sometimes to the erasure of my humanity. But there’s a paradox in tears; I can shake and snort and shudder with the crest of them and still know some rudiment of joy. I want to shake the last daylights from those dead old bones and make you see how much you ruined; on the same coin, I loved you as a brother and that will never leave me. It’s too late to force any reparations from you, stupid boy; the best I can do is forgive.

I forgive you, I forgive you, you gorgeous savage lonelyheart; I forgive your sullenness and your locke’d-upness and I forgive even the wounds you ripped in my lover & me. Happy birthday, you foolish, beautiful corpse. I’ll see you in the next life.

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