…because I can’t tell you about the horrible atrocity that happened today. Because you can’t help me not to screw up again (oh, you didn’t even know about the screwup, because you passed away on the same weekend) or find a method that is both convenient and available. Because you can’t make me laugh. Because you can’t be there to understand me – and nobody else will.
You don’t exist, which is an attribute you share with our common “enemy”, the Lord. But you did. And you made me happy.
No, I don’t want you to suffer just to keep me in good company. Who the hell do you think I am? I am happy to know you are not suffering anymore, but that doesn’t make my misery any less. Oh yes, the atrocity… nothing much, just two rightwing gorillas and me in a bus stop. Just out of the blue. My lip and my mp3 are broken, and I have a bruise. Yes, right after the march, on the way home. No, not angry, not even sad. Disgusted and ashamed.
Wish you were here. Wish you’d mix me a cocktail for the road.