We walked down the block through the dead trees.
You were smiling.
And I was smiling too.
From the time we were little.
You were always taller, thinner.
You were a kind of lanky Matt Dillon.
I was strong but awkward.
And born with an armour of imagination.
I loved music.
And so did you.
But you loved those loud guitars.
And venom.
That venom with a lost angry sadness.
While I lived in the sadness.
I remember Roy Orbison on an AM radio.
All falsetto and loneliness.
That day was so sharp it cut through gla** and warmed the carpet underneath me.
You were out with your friends.
Your best friend's name was Ray.
He's in jail now.
A few weeks ago you were sentenced as well.
I sat in my room still surrounded by a sad song thinking.
Thirty years.
It's been thirty years.
And you're going to be in there for thirty years.
Now I remember that day you had just gotten out of rehab.
And I was happy to see you.
Happy to hope.
That from that point forward.
All would be better.
And I was proud of you.
And we were going home.
The complete family.
A complete family.
Just you and me.
Mom and Dad.
A complete family.