Everlong

Your Legacy

While you lay in your casket, in the beginning of October of '96, your family will be sorting through the things you left behind. They'll look for every little thing that you could have left that pointed to why you did it. They'll hate the gun that you held. They'll hate alcohol. They'll hold your things tightly to their chest. They'll sit with each other and laugh about what they can laugh about and cry about what they should cry about.

Years later, I'll be the one to receive your art and the letters you wrote. The letters will make me cry and will bring me the feeling of a fucked - up deja vu. It'll feel like I wrote the letters.

Whether your being will be able to hear me or not, I will believe that you will hear me when I update you on the new events in my life. I'll tell you new things every morning throughout the summer, with my words drifting off into the warm air.

I'll buy white roses at the supermarket to bring to your headstone on your birthday and the day you passed away. I'll sit in the hot sun, on the grass, place my hand on your headstone, and talk. Tears will run down my face. The tears will be mixed in with laughing. I'll feel more comfortable and at home while doing so. Once an hour or two has passed, I'll put both of my hands to the ground, say goodbye, let out a few tears, and get myself off the ground. I'll walk to my car and tell myself to not turn around.

The last time I talked to you and turned around, you were there. I'm sorry that I must tell you that I simply do not find comfort in seeing you, despite the fact that I feel your presence with me at all times. You remind me too much of myself.

I'm sitting in my car, windows open, cigarette ablaze. I have my legs crossed and my feet rested up, sticking outside the car. He's sitting right next to me. I can feel his presence as a warm mass, and the air around the passenger seat is so thick you could cut it with a knife. He decides to fuck with me and turn the radio on and off, until I decide to pull my feet in the car and start it. I drive away, eventually leaving the cemetery driveway. As I leave, the radio turns off, the passenger seat goes cold again, and I hear a gust of air leave the window. He left, or should I say "stayed" in the cemetery.