Perhaps in the margins of darkness, I could create a son who is not missing; who lives beyond even my own imagination and invention; whose lusts, stupidities, and strengths carry him farther than even he or I can anticipate; who sees the world for what it is; and consequently bears the burdens of everyone's tomorrow with unprecedented wisdom and honor because he is one of the very few who has successfully interrogated his own nature. His shields are instantly available though seldom used. And those who value him shall prosper while those who would destroy him shall perish. He will fulfill a promise I made years ago but failed to keep.
who has never killed an hour? not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. the violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past is all you can hope to accomplish. so you kill the hour. you do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. if you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. and when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. the only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share.
I took my morning walk, I took my evening walk, I ate something, I thought something, I wrote something, I napped and dreamt something too, and with all that something, I still have nothing because so much of sum'things has always been and always will be you.
I miss you.
I miss you.