boston

March 22, 2012

i was looking over everything i wrote you in the past, and it got me feeling terrible about how long it has been. only after deciding i would write you something new did i realize it’s been exactly a year. i suppose that makes this over-due but fitting. aside from letters, i’ve never written you anything from boston, which seems strange and unfortunate. so maybe this will begin something again, maybe it will revive what was once commonplace. at the very least, boston will now have its mark on all of this.

i recently read that one of the most lamentable aspects of the human condition is that it is easier to destroy than to create. disintegration  is often a natural process of time, a break-down built into the way of things. but in the context of people and of experiences, we are able easily to reverse this process, piecing together something new and lasting. for the two of us, i’ve always thought this meant forever creating more between ourselves, establishing substance that negates any and all disintegration. somehow, being away has made me certain of our efforts; we are constantly building between the space of our bones.

.

.

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i finally felt our eyes collide,

with a weight in my throat that dropped to my sides.

your father told me with the deepest sigh,

he was leaving, forever, his treasure behind.