The Last Time

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and out on your front lawn too.

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and crossing the street.

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and telling me to take a seat on my stoop.

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and the first words out of your mouth were: “What’s on your mind?”

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and you listened to me unload everything.

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and you hugged told me that everything was okay now.

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and told me that you and the world still needed me.

The last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you were still alive and I watched you cross the street back to your house.

This isn’t like the last time I was up this early and on my front lawn taking pictures of the sky, you’re not still alive and crossing the street to my house.

I still need you.

My heart hurts.
My heart hurts when
You come to mind.
My throat hurts when
I even let myself think of you.

I can’t believe I let you in.
That I entertained the idea
that I could ever be loved like you made me feel.
That I thought anything could come about any of us talking.

You have a daughter on the way.
A woman who loves you.

You don’t need me.
You never did.

I was a fool to think any of this was real.
Stop telling me you think about
waking up beside me.
Kissing me and loving me.

Don’t do this to her.

20-eight.

I’m going to be 28 on May 24th.

That is all.

I have nothing special or whatever to write about.
This rain is killing me. I’ve been in pain for a few days.
I want to die. Holy shit. Painkillers don’t help.
Fuuuuuuuck.

Uncle Bobby

So. His name isn’t really Robert, Bob, or Bobby. But it’s what everyone called him.

His name is Michael Bennie.

I was very young when I met Uncle Bobby. So young that I don’t remember what he looks like and barely him at all. But I do remember he was always happy to see me and that he loved me. Uncle Bobby wasn’t invited to a lot of family events from what I was told. He was Gay, divorced from his wife, and a father. A few people made a big deal over my parents letting me talk to him. But from what I was told it made him happy.

I had always wondered what had happened to him. Anyone I asked never really knew and I had no idea how to go about finding people. And then just figured he was another family member who didn’t care for me. Or…that he has passed long ago and nobody wanted to tell me.

Which…we found out he did when my dad got a phone call on his birfday. My dad’s birfday is April 6th for the record. We later learned that nobody knew what had happened to him for quite some time. Years. People who were in contacted couldn’t get in touch with him. Uncle Bobby had been living in a shelter. When he died he was labeled a John Doe. His ex-wife actually IDed him. He got his proper burial and we were there for it.

The part that broke me was his friend placing his hand on the box that held his ashes and said “Well Michael…now we know where you are.” His ashes lie in the same cemetery as my Grandparents. So when we go to visit them we obviously go see him too. I don’t know who else does. Or if anyone does besides us. But we always leave something for him. His plot is on the bottom, so it’s perfect for leaving flowers and such. I tape things instead so other people to leave things instead.

Yesterday we went and visited Papa, Grandma and Uncle Bobby. A crow followed us around Long Island National. We left peanuts for the guy. He didn’t follow us after seeing Uncle Bobby. I think it was him. Hope he liked peanuts. The crow rested right at the top of the tree each time he landed. So…we’ll call him Bobby.

I’ll forever wonder what on in Uncle Bobby’s life. I hope he had happy memories. I hope he didn’t live with any regrets. I hope he was happy.

💜

First things first

Who knows if this is even going to stick?

I just need a place to write about…whatever. It may be post losts, short posts, maybe even a few words. Who honestly fucking knows. I guess it just depends on how I’m feeling or what’s on my mind. This is just a test…not real starter post.

Let’s see.
Thank you.
Live long and prosper.