It is difficult to believe that you are gone. To wrap my brain around the notion that you no longer exist. I have been thinking about it for days now. I find that you occupy my thoughts at odd intervals. I wonder where you are. What the essence of what was once you are doing. Who you talk to, dance with, purchase couture for. If you have already fallen in love, since time has no meaning where you are. Or has Joe found you after so many years of waiting, at ocean’s end in a white linen suit, your spirit feet lapped by waves and sunrise.
At times these musings give me solace. At times they do not.
In an odd twist of circumstance I dreamt you at my deathbed last night. You are wearing the black satin pajamas you made my mother promise you would leave this world in and you take my hand. We sit in silence for a while. Finally you smile and tell me that I could really use a manicure and a shave. I ask you why no funeral, why no fuss?
You tell me that you wish not to be buried. That it would be improper to use up graveyard space that someone else should desire, if you needn’t have to. I weep and laugh at this because I know you are right. It is the kind of statement a gentleman makes.
You were the last of the true gentlemen in my sphere.
You take out your pocket watch and nod in acknowledgement of your end. In recognition of the short and eternal walk home.
You turn and you are gone.
You are gone.
And I miss you.