36)
I cannot say that I knew you
but I can say
that I knew you well enough.
I can say that I knew enough
to understand things
that perhaps,
maybe no one else
would understand
or if anything else,
I can say that I understand
the things that most people
would never dare to admit
or talk about.
I can say that there are times,
when we fail, or at least
it seems that we failed,
but maybe we were only learning.
Did you ever think of that?
I can say there are times
when we fail to adjust
or maybe we just give in
to an inaccurate process of elimination,
into which we eliminate ourselves first, assuming
that the fault starts here,
and so
the fault ends here
as well.
It always has to be on us,
for some reason.
I cannot say that I knew your life
or that I lived the same way,
but I can say that I have thought
similarly
and I have tried the same things
with hopes to settle the disputes
or if anything else,
I can say that I tried everything
and anything I could
to soften or stop the whispers
from being louder
than the kind words
or the compliments from people who say
hey, I just want you to know
that I love you
just the way you are.
I will not say that I heard voices
but, at the same time,
there is no voice as loud
nor is there a voice as distracting
as the inner voice
or that so-called, “self-talk,”
which, of course,
I know how this drowns the sounds
from the rest of the world.
I know all about this.
In fact, I know it all too well.
I understand the contemplation
or the need to find a way out.
While I understand that circumstances
are not the same,
perhaps it’s not the circumstances
that make us similar,
but instead,
maybe it’s the relatable journey
or the way things happen
or the relation to pain
which hurts us both
and maybe there is something behind this
that makes us similar,
no matter how different we are . . .
You know?
37)
I was older than you,
before you became timeless.
I knew more about your name
than I knew about you,
at least as a person.
But at the same time,
I knew you, but now,
I know you more than I thought.
I always wonder what your thoughts
were or, say,
what was the last thing you remember,
or whether it was good or bad,
how long did this thought last,
or is this thought timeless now,
just like you are
timeless and of the spirit,
like you, a sad spirit of hope
and dedicated love;
and now you are out there
somewhere, living in the spirit form
overlooking, or looking down, at
the people you love
and left behind.
And you, Mike the Rocket –
You were there for me, long ago,
and telling me how the things in my head
were only in my head,
and I remember this because you
were one of the ones
who told me how none of that was real
or true, but instead,
this was only true to me —
the lies I believed
were the lies in my head.
Or you, Mathias,
my truest hero.
I always wondered why
or how you understood,
but you did.
You knew
and I know this because
you knew exactly what to say
and you made it so
that I didn’t have to explain
or finish my sentence
because yes,
I knew that you knew,
and I knew that you understood
as if, somehow, you felt what I felt
or if anything else,
I knew that you had been where I was before.
But how?
How can two people from different generations
or from different backgrounds
different cultures
and different colored skin
and how can two people
who come from different beliefs
different Gods, or so we thought
and how can two people
who are otherwise, polar opposite
understand and somehow,
believe or see the same things?
I always wondered if you remembered
me, or maybe . . .
Maybe I was just another one of those kids
who you helped out, like the lives you saved
in Rikers, unbeknown to you.
I always wondered what your thoughts
were and, of course, the human side of me
wonders
why didn’t you take your own advice, or
why didn’t you call me?
I remember the night you sat by my side
you made sure that I was okay.
I remember. . .
and here I am now,
still breathing,
because of men
just like you.
And hey,
for whatever this is worth
I would have answered the phone
if you called
especially,
if I knew it was you.
38)
I never knew you well enough
to call you a friend.
I was older,
but at the same time,
we come from the same town,
and we lived there at the same time
and there were friends, connections
or should I say
there were people, places, and things
that brought us together
for reasons beyond our control.
I don’t know where you are now
or how your travels went
but I do know why you went, or at least
in part;
I understand the reason to go
or to be there
and wipe away the pain.
I hope the destination
was the one you planned.
I hope the boy was there;
I hope your presence
comforted him to know
that you did not want him to go
at least
not alone.
I remember the rainy day
when we had the memorial for the boy,
and I remember the rain,
and I remember the release
of the balloons,
I remember the color yellow
and the relevance of the number 11
and more;
what I remember most
was the hole that opened
in the gray sky,
as if the boy knew
we were sending him balloons
and I remember how they
lifted through the hole
in the clouds
and then, just like that
they disappeared.
The hole in the sky
is my beacon of hope,
to which, still,
I understand why
you did what you did
and you went where you went.
But man . . .
I wonder what you thought
or if your last thought
was what you wanted it to be,
to carry you over,
from this life
to the next.
It is rare,
and sad
and also heartwarming
to see how a young boy
who didn’t even reach
the age of two
can bring people
together
and show them
how there is more out there
and how there is more to life,
than just living.
Wherever you are,
just know my prayers are on your side
and wherever you are,
I could use a prayer or two
myself.
Protector,
uncle, and to me
a friend and a lesson.
I think I can stand on my own now,
but I do need some help
and maybe the train I think of . . .
maybe the train
can wait for a while.
So, hey . . .
tell Jake that he changed the world
in a such a brief time.
And if you can, look down on me
a familiar stranger
and on us,
because yes,
I do believe –
(because of men like you)
The Written Addiction 