Moonshine

North in Bumfuck Nowhere

I'm here to mourn someone who, in his eternal flair for drama, thought he could leave before I did. Always so extra. Always needing to steal the stage, even in death—or at least, his imagined version of it. But that's not the plan, is it? "65." We agreed, didn't we? You pushed for 65 when I said 60, and now you dare to break that pact?

We promised each other death in the most absurd, ridiculous way. You with your Hemingway ending and me with my Woolfian drowning, both of us romanticizing tragedy like fools who thought we had time. Yet here you are, hypothetically gone, without waiting for me—again. Selfish. Always selfish.

You were the Hemingway to my Woolf in more ways than just that. Instead of novels, we left behind memories scrawled in bad ink—your lion on my arm, my number on yours, both of us with bite marks that screamed rabies more than romance. But wasn't it romantic in its own way? I mean, come on. Who else would share that kind of chaos with me?

And no, we never kissed. I hope you regret that now. Not that I'd want to now—you're metaphorically dead, cold, and rotting. Even I have limits. But sometimes I wonder what would've happened if we had. What would've shifted then? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

 You once said, "I'll love you until my mortal shell permits me to do so." God, how Shakespearean of you. You were always too much, but that's the thing—I loved your too much. I still do. You were my person, in every definition of that word. My constant. My accomplice in crimes we probably shouldn't have committed, but damn if they didn't make life worth living. You even taught me how to make a Molotov, for God's sake. That's love, isn't it?

So haunt me, if you dare. Show up in my dreams, say something stupid like you always do. But don't you dare come out of my closet, or I'll make sure you're double dead.

I miss you. Hell, I've been missing you, even when you're here. Damn, you're so extra. 

But then last night...last night changed something.

We crossed a line we spent years pretending didn't exist. We breached it, shattered it. And for the first time, I felt the gravity of you in a way I never have before. We burned, didn't we? Hearts on fire, inhibitions gone, miles between us but no distance at all. Your mess became mine. I claimed it because I knew—it already had my name on it. Just like you do.

The words we exchanged, the movements we imagined, the promises we whispered—they belong to us now. They'll haunt me. Hunt me. Fill me up and leave me empty all at once.

And yet...they keep me going.

We said, "Go on."

It keeps us hoping.

But I don't want to own you. I want to be yours.

Take me. Let me be your home, your hope, your everything. Let me drown in you, even if it's wrong. Even if we're too scared to admit the truth beneath the masks we wear. You make me feel alive. Electrified.

And when the dawn came, you promised more. You promised me more.

So here I am, waiting. Terrified, exhilarated, desperate for whatever comes next. For you. Always for you.

Because we may be darkness to darkness, shadow to shadow, but in you, I found a fire I never want to extinguish.

Come find me in the light.