The Dirge of Tomorrow

Dear Josh,

Come back. Please. Come home. It's not fair. It wasn't supposed to happen. You promised you wouldn't go anywhere. You promised you wouldn't go anywhere.

You promised.

It's not fair.

Josh, come write with me. Talk to me. Draw with me. You are mine. My calm voice. My positive model that told ED "no". I was yours. Your Little Buddy.

This wasn't supposed to happen, Josh. You promised.

What a waste.

I opened my heart. We shared a spirit. Comfort. Strength. You said you would hold on hope for me and wouldn't let me choke.

I don't understand. What's the point? What's the fucking point? A brilliant mind. A bleeding heart. Gone. And all you leave behind is the confusion of your peers and the sting of my tears. The tears that flow in a never ending stream until my eyes are swollen. The burn of the salt remains long after the river has left it's last kiss upon my cheek.

Life goes on around. People laugh their laughs and buy their groceries and kiss their lovers, blissfully unaware of the rip in the hearts of those of us who had a beautiful part of our soul snatched away by a thief in the dark. And the devil cackles as we scramble to regain our footing after our crutch has been kicked from beneath us. From beneath me.

Come back. It's not fair. You promised. Sing to me one more requiem of intellect. All I hear is the dirge of tomorrow while I am trapped in yesterday.

It's not fucking fair.

And I, left as the survivor of your legacy. The only one who truly knew your heart. The burden of your secrets, forever festering as part of my soul. Don't leave me as the sole remnant of your pain and affliction; burning on my tongue, but fire I can never speak.

What went through your head? was I there? I will never know. You drew my face and heard my voice and knew my heart; come back to me my soul's mirror. My protector.

You promised to be my protector, that I would forever be your little buddy.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

What a waste.