The Weeping and the Dust

I guess you could say I miss him

In a general kind of way.

He’s the boy who’s always laughing

And then giving himself away.

It’s those eyes, I think, that broke me

And to this day, I wonder why.

Like he said, he was not special,

And neither, of course, was I.

You could say that we were children

And knew nothing of this earth,

And that would be right on the mark,

But would it define our worth?

We had made something together,

Be it love or friendship or lust.

He found light still deep inside me

Among the weeping and the dust.

And I could go on for hours

About the way he made me feel,

But it’s not worth remembering

The kinds of scars that never heal.

I will say just this about him:

He was here, but now he is gone.

And if ever I am lonely,

I’ll remember all we had done.

We are all of us awaiting

Either casket, grief, or reply.

Like I said, he was not special,

And neither, of course, was I.

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