Jesse is dead.

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Jesse is dead.

I thought that by writing those words, the words you just read,
    I would somehow feel closer to him.

I thought that by scarring my arm with his name,
    I would always know where to look for guidance.

I thought that by closing my eyes on a windy night,
    I would sometimes hear his deep voice in my ears.

I thought that by driving past the house where we lived,
    I would somehow feel his arms around me.

I thought that by playing his guitar,
    I would feel him over my shoulder,
    his strong hands moving mine to the right chords.

I thought that by walking to the ocean where my mom cast his ashes,
    I would sense some of the light he brought to my world.

I thought that by saying his name aloud every day,
   He would hear me.


I was right.


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