re: the pilgrim

 

let it all go, man - rayland baxter. 

It’s Sunday, and here stands your son unrelentingly crying himself out at night, writing about your beautiful soul, and pouring his splintered heart on the keyboards you toiled yourself to provide for him. Of course, I have a tinge of guilt for not paying you back for the sacrifices you made, but you know deep inside that I’ve always wanted to. I don’t hate the fact that I feel like a pied piper to myself for not giving you back prematurely. I kind of embrace it now. It makes me cry and love you even more. But I can’t fathom still, why’d god take you from me so effortlessly. Save for the time when you told mom you're tired, you've been the strongest person I know. It all took me aback. I get that your passing’s, in fact, been merciful. But I wasn’t ready for it still. I had a dream about you yesterday. You were just as beautiful of a man as you had always been before you bid us adieu. I might be given to hyperbole if I say that you’re an angel. Well, I should be, because you damn are.   

I, now, realized—after quite a wordy two pages and a half of stream of consciousness, that it is downright disrespectful to bracket you in a hand-me-down un-scholastic essay. So here goes a memory open to boundless love and wonder. 

14.11.21