Pre-dawn thoughts 27/2/22

I lie awake and think of you, and the empty years and decades ahead without you. They do feel dead. I think you are the only person who has ever really made me feel things, and now the island is isolated and more of a prison. Dark and lonely.

I feel myself looking at the waters, and wondering what it will take to drown. I am sad, but that isn't really enough to say what I need to. I adore you, and you are my only real family. I'm going to die, I think. I don't know when and I don't know where, but I will. It is a strange and terrible thing to know, to feel the waters enter you even before you touch them and to feel their cold around your heart.

I have tried to not contact you, and I haven't, but it remains the case that everything I write is to you, no matter if I send it or not. No matter if I want it to be. I don't know how that looks from outside; if it's love, or just something to hold in contempt for others and even for you as the ramblings of a madman. I don't know that it matters, in the end. Nobody else has ever pushed the void away, and I think that here, at the edge of oblivion, I hold onto the person and the idea that once filled my life with light.

There's a part of me that wants to read what was said about me on your private site, to know how many people have told you that you should hate me. How long it took you to agree. That wonders if you're already under instruction not to talk to me. I think that for the longest time I had to believe that we would be close even when that seemed hopeless, and a small part of me still sings for us. I don't want to be without that beauty in my life, and I will sing most bravely at my death, a magical song to give the rest of my life to you.

You were, are, and always will be my person. I adore you, and in a thousand big and small ways. You are a person and a memory worth dying for.