dear mikey,

I have said, perhaps callously, I am living through you. I am excited for you. I am fearful for you.
I am fearful of you.

I remember Michael, I remember thinking I had it all figured out. I remember telling Papou, of all people, ya I know what heartbreak is. I cringe when I think about it.

But I was young. I was stubborn. I was right. What are you talking about, you stupid old man?
You’re the past. Your generation killed our future.
Can you not see how short sighted you are?
Can you not see how I have it all figured out?
I will clean up your mistakes.
I will do better.

Over thirty years later, I hug him tight so he can forgive me. Not because I was wrong, but because I was right.
He is the past. His generation did kill my future.
He is literally short sighted now. His eyes are a mess.
I did figure it all out but it came at a cost.
I could not clean up his mistakes.
I barely did better.

And I see you standing there at the doorway when we had this huge blowout, maybe you need to stop worrying about me, stop being obsessed with us, maybe you’re the one who needs help.

And all I really want is to sit with you.

I made a song, years ago, those silly loop things, it’s called sit with me dedicated to you. It starts with some guitar strings, gentle intermittent cymbal crashes that increase in intensity while two competing beats come together, a soft heartbeat in the background, sketchy beats that all fade into a haunting echo and then this flute comes in.

That’s you. The real you behind the haunting. The you I wish I could be a part of. It comes onto the scene: pleading, curious, free, light, twirling, alive.

A contrasting flute comes on, almost in harmony, a more cautious tone, and the two flutes dance, it goes back and forth, finding a pattern, a way to be in the same space. The cymbals slowly disrupt, and the haunting eventually returns, the flutes gone. The light strings step back into the spotlight and the quick beat of the world washes the rest away. At the end all we’re left with are the strings. It ends on a heartbeat.

And you’re my heartbeat Michael. Not my hopes, not my dreams. You’re the stammer and the fear and the thrill. The steady drum that tells me there’s a song out there where we are dancing, still dancing, despite all the time of the world.

love, always
me