Steal a glance in the mirror.
Tear stains are evident, plain as day.
Pain sits in dark circles under your expressionless eyes.
You're the definition of "pathetic".
...Do you think she didn't notice?
You're wearing last night on your face.

Matt,

I still see you as an obnoxious, 6'2, fifteen year old goofball.
Is that weird?
To hold that image of you in my head?
I was eight years old when you were fifteen.
One time, you pretended to eat my cat and I cried.
"MATT, WHY WOULD YOU EAT ANGEL?!"
"Leigh, I didn't really! Look, he's right here!"
My earliest memory of you.
A fond one at that.


You and my brother were close.
Roughhoused together...
Played every-kind-of-ball together...
Grew up together.

Our fathers have always been close, so naturally their sons would be.

Your dad still calls mine
"my dearest friend".
They coached alongside each other for years.
And who did they coach?
You.
My brother.
Kids who needed a guiding hand.

You stood out.

(Of course you did, you were six feet tall by freshman year!)

You controlled the basketball court like no one else.
Rebounds, ball handling, 3-pointers;
You could do it all.
There was no stopping you...
Oh yeah, you made the team what it was.
How many career points?
Over 3,000?
Something like that.

You were a star off of the court, too.
Everyone looked towards you for a quick joke.
You were funny, man.
Your laugh was infectious, your smile was luminescent.
You'd ******' light up New York City.
No, you weren't the brightest guy...
And your dad never let you forget it.
But you tried.


I wish you could see your family now.
I hadn't seen your parents and brothers in ages.
Parker's no longer that chubby, quiet kid, huh?
Rob is as thin as ever, quiet as well.
Your mom is as beautiful as I remember her to be.
Your dad hasn't changed a bit.
No, I take that back...
He was crying.
All 6'8 of him pulled my 5'2 father into a hug.
"Come here, my dearest friend."
My father cried.
I haven't seen that man cry in years.
And now both of them are crying over you.
Over how beautiful, remarkable, and loved you were.
There were a ton of people there, also crying for the same reasons.

You were so valued.

I wish you would've known that.

So long, Matt.
Until we meet again...

-Leigh

To John Lennon, wherever you and your twisted mind are now...*

I like to think that we're connected somehow.
Your music makes me think, makes me second guess things, makes me live.
It's amazing what your words do to me.
No one will ever understand what you mean to me.
Quite honestly, I'm not sure I want them to.

So thanks, Johnny.  
For everything you've done for me, my music taste, my mind, and my heart.
I love you and all your imperfections.

Have you ever looked at someone?

A stranger, a friend, a lover?

Surely, your answer would be
Yes.

But I don't think you understand the question...

When I say "looked", I mean really looked.

Have you had the chance to look past the walls built around the heart?
Have you grasped the opportunity to see the little child inside?
Have you had the slightest glimpse at the damaged psyche?

Surely, your answer would be
No.

My answer would be
Yes.

I've reached past the walls, taken the opportunity, had my glimpse.
And wouldn't you know?
I honestly wish I hadn't.

My dad doesn't seem to notice that I've zoned out.
I wonder if the preacher noticed -- he sure did give me an odd look when I received the Eucharist...
I don't even know why I keep coming here.
Then again, it's not like I have a choice.
I'm dragged here every Sunday and I hate this place.
It makes me question what little faith I have...

Who are you to tell me what to believe?

Who says I won't get into heaven or whatever that "palace in the sky" is?

Maybe I'm already redeemed by my own intellect... ever think of that?

So here I am,
sitting in the House of God with a head full of sin.
**Surely I've been ****** to hell.

Had this evening been a date
-- a real date, just the two of us --
I would've opened the door for you.
I would've pulled out your chair.
I would've showered you with compliments.
("You are so beautiful it hurts.")
I would've held your hand atop the table, who cares if people stared?
I would've kissed you when the lights went out.
I would've forced myself to look away from you, only to look back
again and again and again.
I would've solved the ****** because impressing you would've mattered.
I would've told you
"I love you"
a thousand times.
I would've told you
"I love you"
a thousand times more.
I would've pulled out your chair.
I would've held the door open for you.
I would've kissed you on that
Union Jack adorned porch.
**I wouldn't have cared about
the people around us.

Through tears and heartbreak
Through laughs and euphoria
Through smiles and peacefulness    
You remain a constant

This feeling is overriding my thoughts and my words and my "poetry"...
But I'm afraid to tell you, frightened you might not understand.
And yet, I think you would understand better than anyone...
Am I afraid of admitting it to you or to myself?

If I could put my love into words, I would.
But I can't.
I'm not even sure this is love.

In my head, the words come easily,
practically an unconscious declaration.
In the air, the words are clipped,
practically crawling up my throat.

I have to tell someone,
otherwise the thoughts will consume me.
Ah, but who to tell?

Yes, son, this is another letter to you.
I can never find enough words,
so I each letter is a continuation.

--

Dearest John,

Words cannot describe
what you mean to me.
You, your mannerisms, your music...
Everything about your life
kept me
from ending my own.
"Thank you" is an understatement.
You kept me alive
and because of you,
I met the girl
who's captured my heart.
I'm happier than I've ever been
and I have you to thank.

You. Saved. Me...
My life resides
in the grooves of
your first edition albums
stacked on my shelf.

This love is bright and sharp and electric in its clarity.

Sometimes I call you my angel.
It just slips out in moments of passion and love.
I know you don't really like it, but B, that's what you are.
If you hadn't entered my life the moment that you did, I would be dead.
I know it - without a doubt.
In February of 2015, you would've been attending the funeral of your temporary chemistry lab partner.
"You came along and you saved me."
You had no idea what I was going through.
I hadn't even told you the worst parts.
But you were there for me for months.
You kept me going.
You were the coffee I should've been drinking.
---
Because of you, I'm finally comfortable in my own skin.
I know who I am and I am because of you.
You grabbed my hand and led me through the darkness of a bad breakup, bouts of depression, and midnight panic attacks.
You had the uncanny ability to know when I was slipping.
My angel, my guardian angel.
---
I've spent the last ten months thanking you
- with my lips, with my hands, with my writings -
but nothing will ever be enough.
I love you endlessly.
I owe you everything.