Nothing to fear but fear itself… and death, there’s always death.

It’s not that I fear death,
it’s that I fear it will steal something precious from me.
It will steal my guide.
It will steal my shoulder.
It will steal our time, it should leave us be.
It will steal you before I really know you as I should.
Then again, I don’t think I’ll ever know you as I’d like.
Or as I could.

You share very little when it comes to yourself.
It’s not your way.
It’s just how you are.
Memories too painful or just plain forgotten, fade away.
Your childhood a mystery to me.
Your youth rarely mentioned.
Yet you have stories to tell.
Anecdotes and yarns.
I can sense them buried beneath the tension.
Hidden deep.

I wish you would write.
Not fiction, fact.
Put pen to paper.
Tell me your tales.
Show me your plight.
An expression of your soul.
Such a wonderful sound.
Life is so short, yet yours was a life lived.
Music shining bright.
Beautiful insight.

I love you.
You know it.
I should say it.
Over and over.
Until I’m sure I’ve made up for all the times I haven’t said it.
Something inside stops me.
I don’t know why.
It seems so hard?
3 words.
Tongue twisting, heart wrenching words.
I’ll try.

Me and you, sorry, you and I.
Our relationship turbulent.
Almost spoiled beyond saving.
Love is strong though.
Stronger than the bottle.
Stronger than the hurt.
Stronger than the missing years.
But it’s hard to love a ghost.

There were times, hard times.
Times you missed.
Times you never even noticed.
Times I needed you.
I pushed you away.
It was easier.
So amazing in ways I could never be.
So absolutely shit in ways I never will be.

The past is the past though.
I love you and always will.
Whoever you are, were, will be.
No judgement.
No falling out.
For however long we have.
I pray it’s longer than I fear.
Long enough to hear stories, or read them.
If you write them.
Which I doubt.

We have nothing to fear, but fear itself….
and death.

There’s always death.


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