Fail, fail, fail, fail, succeed


I think we met at 14, it might have been sooner. But 14 was the year we connected deeply, however briefly it would last. Your brother had recently been killed and you were still grieving – we were kids, but old beyond our years. Suffering, pain, and neglect had been part of our lives for a long, long time. I remember laying on your bed, smoking cigarettes and listening to the Stones “Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out.” I think we both felt kind of unlovable – but in our case it wasn’t teenage angst, it was just a painful reality. I remember feeling like we were deeply connected and it was intoxicating, but at the time all we knew was that it felt good to hold each other. We were damaged goods and we both knew it, searching for comfort and what we hoped was love without really understanding either one. Beautiful clueless kids with no one looking out for us, we were beginning the long road of discovering who we were. The world was unimaginably dark and beautiful at the same time. We weren’t together long, but at that age everything is profound.

Ten years later you left our hometown and came to live with me a thousand miles away. Holy fuck – you were even more gorgeous at 24 than at 14. But people are like that, they don’t really look their best, their sexiest, until they’ve lived a while. The second time didn’t last long either of course, and I honestly don’t remember how it ended. I just know we shared something beautiful for two brief interludes before our lives moved on.

Sometimes I still think about you – I wonder what you look like, and I really hope you are well. I remember you had some heart defect, WTF, for all I know you might be dead. Life is mysteriously beautiful and brutal and unfortunately none of us are getting out of here alive. I hope you found some peace.

I’d like to think we gave each other some comfort, however briefly, from this cold and often cruel world. Human connection is a beautiful and healing thing – I know I’m grateful for what you gave me.

So there’s that.