Mr. Lonley

when someone dies, that’s

it. no 

more late night conversations,

no more shared laughs over

hard work and dedication

but you are not dead

so, come dance with me.


i often think longingly of what i would ask my brother if he were here. he listened to Mr. Lonely all the time, i reach for the phone to ask him about it and realize i don’t have a number for him, there is no magic number you can conjure up and speak to those who have past… at least not that i know of.

you see the images of an empty bench and a beautiful view and the prompt: if you could sit here for one hour with anyone, alive or dead, who would it be.

but what of those past loves, former best friends, teachers, family members cohort, whom at one point in your life you spent every moment with, in hysterical sleep deprived delirium, in random silly contests like who could drink the 2 liters of water the fastest, in all things.

those fleeting loves that were so deep and true with no regard to the duration.

often we create great walls and barriers against those who have known well in our lives and are no longer as close.

this is an invitation. this is an opportunity. remove the mask of ego that barricades your heart from singing. reach-out to those who you once loved.

for love is eternal.

ask the question you have stifled. and be prepared for the answer you least expected, or to be ignored.

after all, not everyone knows the secret.

not everyone is free.