Underneath

Today, I moved the bookshelf, with all of its books and all of its collected dust (which weighed just about as much as the books), out of my bedroom. I also cleaned out all the drawers and donated most of the contents. Mostly gym and running clothes that no longer fit. 

I dusted off and cleaned the mirror. I'm not in love with what I saw looking back at me, but at least I can see him clearly now. You've aged, brother. You could use some repair. It's gone well beyond maintenance.

I found a letter you left for me one one of those nights you came and got your things. And a card commemorating our first Valentine's Day together. I could hear your voice when I read the words. You spoke of us, together. I let that ring inside me for awhile. 

When there were no more words to read, I read them again. Your words reveal you in glimpses. I wanted them to continue. It doesn't matter which words you choose, or what you have to say. Just let me read them. Let me hear your voice again, my friend. 

Reading those words from the past made me realize how dry I've become without them. I hate that I have no news of you, no contact with you. It feels so absolutely wrong.