A Year of Goodbyes
(Those we get to say, and those we don’t)
They say the Piscean dreams the deepest.
I don’t believe I slept a moment on those drives. No, I couldn’t risk missing a sight of you. I peered into every car that drove besides. I hope you weren’t in those with the tinted windows. Though, last I remember, you didn’t have tinted windows. But last I remember was so long ago now. One particular car caught my eye, I rolled down the window and leaned my head out. But I suppose I got too close, my head came clean off my body and rolled right away, to those rolling hills to the east. It tumbled to a rest at the feet of an artist painting a painting. He picked my head up and asked me how the paining made me feel, but I could only tell him how it looked. I asked him what it was called, he told me he couldn’t remember; he had been painting this particular painting for so long now.
I don’t believe I slept a moment on those drives. No, I couldn’t risk missing a touch from you. But at one point my legs decided they needed a stretch, so my body exited the car and unwittingly climbed that vast mountain range to the west. Perhaps my heart thought it might find you at the peak. But all that was to be found was a bundle of unmailed letters, each without a stamp. I sat on the edge of the mountain and opened them one by one, tracing my fingers intricately over every inch of their delicate lettering, until I came upon a postcard. Though I couldn’t see what it looked like, something about it made me feel as though I could sit on that mountain’s edge and weep a river down its side. My teardrops would flood and drown the earth below, carve out a lonely lake at the foot of that mountain, and just rest; rest as they had wanted to for so long now.
I don’t believe I slept a moment on those drives. But I suppose if I did, I would have dreamt of a postcard of a painting of all the world; the rolling hills, the vast mountains, the lonely lakes. And I suppose I would have dreamt that it read,
To be here without you.
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this album is everything i love about hip-hop... mood-setting instrumentals that build a world fit for the flows of an eager and astounding emcee. kitzyboy