I was at the hand of the devil, and he was forcing me to throw away all my belongings, lure me into destruction, get me spun out into nowhere to die of thirst along the rail way. Back to nothing nowhere, tremendous financial loss, madness again, misery, fear.
I guess I had to cry as I threw away your old letters. I remember the bait, and quietly refusing the summation of all earthly delight because I was more or less an honest man. You and me and the devil saw it, but no one else, and it didn't amount to much. Maybe you have some reservations, but I don't know if anyone knows me like you, and I know you know I'm not so bad. A lot of the secrets of my heart were taken for granted, and that's fine. I am an honest man only when no one is watching, but I'm glad you knew.
But I still swoon sometimes when I think about you. I still get teary when I think about your cute eyelashes. Over and over the wicked thing destroys you from my life, and again the chilling winds bring you back around again. You know you've got such dark eyes. Please forgive me for writing this.
I don't want anything else out of life at all, you know? I know I'll never have it. But to have known and loved you is the jewel of my life, and that's pretty good. Because, you know, balls deep is a fantastic thought, and I'd love to have your cunt snot all in my eyebrows, whole foot in my mouth, all that, but really, in the end is the love. And I do, you know, I do love you very much, and that's what keeps me company at night is love, and the care that I have for our friendship, and although I am black eyed about my accounts, and the horrible treatment from my family after all was said and done, you knowing very well the price I paid to make sure everyone was ok, it is hard to look at life without a sort of bitter taste all things said and done. I guess we both will probably have some regrets.
But I think about you happy and free, and beautiful and thin and gay, and just know you're out there under the stars paints it in a whispering way that gives me comfort you can't imagine.
And I know you. I know you're childishly materialistic, and I know you'd only let me down. I know you fart. I know we would argue until we cried, and I know that hell would be heaven and heaven hell. I know you would dissect me, and I know I would lose my soul in you. I know the rise and fall of the seasons, and the rhythms of the war drums, the rites of spring. I know you're not everything that ever was, and just another person that I knew. I know you're a sore loser. I know I am not.
I am just so happy. I am just so happy to have known and loved you that I could cry. I could just cry tears of joy forever to have known and loved you, and to have a chance to tell you how much you mean to me as a very special friend, and how that you and the young buck are about the only flowers of life that made sense to me, other than my King, and although I do long to hold you, I will always hold you in my heart of hearts, and that's as much as I could ever have you in my life anyway, even right next to me. Because we are a river that flows with gold dust, milk, and honey; we are a song without beginning or end, we are lost and we are found in being lost, and I want you to know that I am wildly in love with you, in my goofy cross eyed way, and I always will be, even when I'm nothing but some forgotten memory. I don't want anyone or anything else, and I might as well try to buy the moon, but the trick is as long as I know you in my heart, then I will always have you in that secret locket, and when I think about you, true transcendental beauty is mine, and I will always always remember you as my dearest friend that made my life what it is today, better or worse.
My little friend, he would never see a sunrise painted against the evening sky if not for the rickshaw reckless wild adventures of your picture pop up choose your own adventure. He would never kiss a girl, or whatever crazy shit they do these days, and I would have never loved my little magician's assistant with the tight sweet ass that I loved so much. I would have never tasted the merciless cruelty of
the long dark night, again, and again, and again. But to me, you were worth it, to love you like I do. It is really a fucked up situation, I think we could all agree, but you wouldn't believe how I feel sometimes. I feel like it was the first time in high school, but like the last moments of reflection upon life in peace. Better, better, no sometimes it's better than anything. It's really beautiful sometimes.
And it is an ocean of tears, of agony, and sometimes completely inappropriate pining, and confounding confusion, and loss, and pain, but also of joy everlasting, and if I could find the words, song, and pure and total ecstasy the likes of which there has been nothing like in my life, nor will there ever will be. You are, in your own very weird way, the real treasure of my life, our sorta silly nothing, and the purple tendril'd weird cosmic dance we do, over wires, blossoming very carefully, with guns and knives, and harsh language, and love, and hate, and fear. Mutual admiration and respect, and of course sometimes love. Like, just as good as anything else, sometimes better.
And I am grateful. And I love you very very much, and I always will, and nothing will ever take that away from me, because love is all I am, and then a swarm of insects around a camp fire at night, utterly insane, fading into the night, buzzing, drinking blood, framing hell in blue and gold and black.
And that's all I have to say. Thank you, thank you, a million times, thank you. I pray I have the strength to never write anything like this again, but anon, you are the most beautiful person in the world to me. Thank you for being my friend.
Inspiration, move me brightly. I will love you all forever.