{don't speak ill of the dead.}

the death came on a thursday. or friday, it's hard to be sure, despite the recency. of course i went to the bar right away. there were still hearts in the head of my beer, but i sucked at them like so many sinful suppers. until they formed what looked like wild animals, or birds in flight. blew smoke in my eyes, because i felt no urge to cry. at least with smoke tears i would fit the part of a mourner. unbeknown to anyone around, having no idea what had happened within me. "i'm just passing the time," i would say. "let me take that back," adding, "clearly, i am drunk." as the words left my lips, the situational reality resonated, and rang true. like all the alcohol running through my body, it suddenly clicked, and i felt the dizzy actuality take hold. my head spinning. not to say the words were necessarily true, but simply that i had said them. and even through verbalizing them, the futility of the whole ordeal was revealed. beyond this death remained the false intimacy that i had grown so accustomed to. which before now, i hadn't been able to recognize. the lie that was love, and why had i wanted so badly. pleading with a dead heart. it didn't matter now. what's been said, has been said. and i was not a mourner. i had been once, but that sense of identity was lost. once i realized its wastefulness. days came and went like dandelions on a grassy field. time stood still for two seconds, but in the way of delight. before a beautiful song. before sudden salvation. i did as i pleased. and thought maybe there was a catch. isn't there always some hook. but drawing near to grace, as i stood up on tender heels, and my skin began to clear, i realized no such thing existed in my heart. there will be temptations. but the wilderness is painful. and these are the firstfruits.