And now whenever I catch glimpses of him, in rooftop conversations, at surprise parties under the blue moon - where the blue moon drinks most of the vodka, and at a midnight cruise into the terrible ocean of forgetfulness and remembrance at different hours...
I can't help but be pulled apart.
Mostly by two things.
ONE, by a grevious and otherworldly sense of loss.
TWO, by a calm and egregious peace that I have moved on.
