Funny Man

Dear Greg,

Do you remember me, my funny man?

We sat in that room, the candlelight flickering, letting me see your tortured body and anguished eyes.You're trying you had said. I'm trying, trying, trying.  Does Lucy know that I'm going to be late for dinner? Mount Zion, Mount Zion. We remember thee. Lucy.

We could  laugh about it later, when your eyes looked  less anguished, but your skin remained  a pallid grey and your bones still jutted out.

We'd been talking a while, and each time you smiled, it was  like lights were flooding  your face. But it was  gone so heartbreakingly fast, I couldn't keep the pain from snuffing your momentary happiness.

We talked for hours, huddling around the tempermental heater, weak tea in my hand and black coffee in yours. We spoke about how you were going to make something of yourself. You laughed when we said how you were going to be something wonderful. You laughed, because your world was so different to the green, sunlight filled days of our childhood, you had the world picked up on a lower frequency. Nothing was the same, and you didn't know how to get it back again.

I thought my will could force it back, remember? I'd see you through, I'd get us back to where we wanted to be, we could do anything, be anybody, if I just tried hard enough.

I knew how wrong I was, the night I found you.

Not all the will and love in the world could have saved you, and now, you'll never get to be anyone else.

I'm sorry, my funny man.


Your Lucy

The End

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