An Anniversary Of Loss

My body remembers what it means to lose. To be crumpled on that thin church carpet. To collapse so deep within myself that no well-meaning hand could reach me. No calm word. No touch. No reassurance.

Something broke that day. The day I saw his leather jacket slung over an empty chair. The day his boots sat next to the coffin that held something that looked like his body. I knew I had failed. Somewhere along the line I let him down. I was too cold, too independent, too selfish, too far away.

But we had always been far from each other. He had his secrets, that were no secret to me. The boys, the drugs, the drawers full of bustiers and skirts. And I kept them for him. Petted them gently, like he pet me- touched me for the first time after I’d tore years before. He held me slow, expected to get no big confessions and gave none. He stood silent beside me, endless with his faith in me. And next to him things clicked into place again. My heart, my focus, my cunt. Me. And I did it. He let me see how I could do it. And he told me that was why he loved me, and he spoke of weddings and kids and I kissed him softly, said thank you and left. Left to become what he saw in me. Pushed him from my side to my shadow. Where I did not hold him, gently or otherwise.

And so when they reached for me, said they were sorry he was gone, I knew their arms could not find me. Could not know how I let him fall. Fall to the boys, the drawers and the drugs that were never gentle.

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All my <3 br="br" erich="erich" kotschi="kotschi">June 30, 1982 – November 30, 2004

Surviving That Night

How did you do it?

It started out nice, a sweet suggestion that maybe we not rush into anything. After all he’d just gotten out of the military, out of their psych unit, and that boy I loved, well he just left, so maybe we needed some time. But no.

Then I laid real still, hoping for a question from that broken friend of mine, looking for a break from his weight on top of me so I might slip through his cracks. But no.

So instead I clenched my jaw, my cunt, praying that scream wasn’t real, praying I could make him come just like the love that had come before him. But no.

Then as he slept, cock splotched with my wet, red wet that spoke nothing of passion, then I soaked in a bath hoping to bring down that pain, that swelling. But no.

A kiss to my forehead in late morning light and he was gone and I was left with something I could not name. A friend that had disappeared in a night, a stain on a sheet, a change. I searched his eyes for something I knew and I thought I could find a reason. But no.