The Ides Kicked My Ass

The ides of march - no matter how prepared or immune I believe myself to be, this day kicks my ass every year. Happy Anniversary - 6 years! You're still dead (not that I really expected that to change or anything) and I'm still heartbroken by the choice you made. I look for you in little moments - found objects, rooftops, cumin, climbing trees, and piercing wind.

I've forgotten your voice - you've been rendered mute save the few bits of writing I managed to save. While there were definitely times I wished for that when you were alive, it makes me so sad that your voice has faded completely away. It's only your eyes, lids perpetually lowered to half mast and pupils much lighter and more vibrant than mine, that remain. That and your smirk, with its lopsided patronizing smugness. I would like to exchange the smirk for your voice, as the smirk is not how I want to remember you.

I would rather picture your goofiness, rarely on display in the latter years of your life. The mischevious litle kid smile with your ever-present little old man wrinkles at the corners of your mouth and eyes. Even when you were a little boy you had funny little old man wrinkles. Before your eyes turned opaque and restless, that is. Then the wrinkles were no longer charming, but somehow became deep canyons carved by something that could not possibly be a smile.

I miss you.