A bottle of white wine.
Sleeping pills lined in rows.
A count of six by seven doses.
For two month’s sweet dreams.
For a final kiss goodbye*
To whomever this finds, I hope it finds and leaves you well, for it wasn’t all that tragic, this life, except in its conclusions. As I see it passing by, I think I’ve learned my lesson.
The first time I died was with the death of my father. Something had happened just prior. I pouted in the grass contemplating, counting cares. I heard a familiar voice call my name and pretended I did not hear. I heard that voice call louder.
It changes in a moment to become what it will always be. A collapse, a glass shatters, shards and splinters, voices, pained, call out in directionless unison, but none to say goodbye. There were too many broken parts to put back together whole.
Abrupt endings, inconclusion, but expected, nonetheless. The death of a parent to a child hit me as it has hit many, I am sure, and many more still to come. The death of a spouse to a parent is something more unique, I thought. I reasoned*. Still think**. Still reasoning***.
You hear ‘suicide,’ and wonder what you’re missing out on. There is something glamorous to a self-made death. It wasn’t that glamorous. It isn’t. She put a blade to both wrists to see what was inside. Only blood, but less and less. She left no note behind. I, too, contained less, reduced to calm through numbness, time paused, waiting for blueshift.
You move forward,
You create the past,
You move on and on and on.
Forget the words never said.
Forget to say them too.
There were days like this, until there were not, until there could never be again. The crowds were silent with their blended noise, and the air grew still and stagnant. Boredom took over and time began again. One day, I left before the sun rose. To Atlanta, Chicago, Denver, San Francisco, Seattle, and some places in between. To the Times as They exist discretely, ad continuum.
I continued to leave. I left before too much could start. A pair minus one, Jack high, at best. It was right at the start. She said She would follow, but I couldn’t take the lead. I chose Our paths as They diverged. One Day, I said They would cease to. They wouldn’t cross again.
I left, then she left, then another she left as well, then I left her, and her again, having found another. Then a transfer of work. A quit of a job. A period of utter solitude. Another She, until a Child miscarried. A sentence began, met with writer’s block, never to end, repressed without consideration. Couldn’t utter One Day lies.
I am the sum of those who stand next to me. I am a sum of nothing. The loves in my life are lost, else they have been given away, and the little of myself that is left, I give it all with words, as the memory of voices hangs in the air. Seven by six down to one with nothing more to follow. I’ll think about their voices until I hear them clearly. I’ll say my goodbyes, hope for hello agains.
This is the end of new beginnings.