The last time I saw you, you brushed past me on the subway like we were strangers. It was your eyes that struck me. It was your eyes but they weren’t your eyes anymore. They were dulled, glassy, like dirty window panes where no light gets in.
I wondered where you had been, but I know one thing: you were gone. There, but a faded facsimile of something else.It’s
This isn’t how I want to remember you. You were so mischievous, clever, and playful. You made me laugh, right down to my boots, had a sideways eye on things. We shared a lot about art and life. We weren’t long for this world, but sadly, neither were you. You opted out at 37.
Going back to the Edinburgh Festival this summer reminded me of how we first met ten years ago. You were one of the sweetest and strangest partners I ever had, and a constant mystery I could never begin to unravel.
You were also hilarious. The saddest people always are. Glasgow has dimmed a little without you.
Hit The North 
I’m sorry
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Cookie x
LikeLike
What is it about the humor and tragedy? (As you describe the lost partner as being hilarious?) it’s a weird mash-up or contradiction isn’t it? I’m rereading the American author David Foster Wallace this season and thinking similarly, how much pain he was in and yet how hysterical he could be. Sorry for your loss Lorelei, this is a lovely tribute. I get that look with the eyes, by the way…can see that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s a definite trade-off in human nature, for sure. This man was wonderful. Thanks for your kind words.
LikeLiked by 1 person