Trenton Broughton danger: high entropy

Thinking about loss


It started with a song

It was a chance sound. The simple humming of a couple of bars of a song triggered by something else in the conversation, but that is all it takes sometimes. Suddenly I was standing in Toronto around 1997 hearing that same song and seeing the person that would be forever connected to it. I feel fortunate that the only way I can see your face is always in mid laugh. Yes, I feel fortunate, but also guilty, because I was only there for the good times, and I only heard the laughter. By the time I found out where life had taken you, what rejection had done to you, and where the drugs and abuse left you, it was too late. I will keep your youth and your laughter. I won’t lose those even if you have.

The song carried on

One thing leads to another, and now I’m putting together a playlist. It’s another lifetime, and another you. You are different - you weren’t supposed to be here, but that’s a good thing. They said you would never make it. They said you wouldn’t even live long enough for me to meet you, but here we are, listening to the playlist I have put together from a generation neither one of us are from. Every song is an inside joke, and no one else knows what we are talking about.

I was there for the good times, but so were you. I saw you walk once, but now I know you are dancing.

Those don’t go together, and you know it

Of course you wait for me to come in before you pour the coca-cola into your coffee. It’s that grin that gives it away. It’s the same grin you give me when you ask which plate of food tastes better even though we have both just been served from the same pot. I want to think that’s what kept you going. You never seem to stop. I can’t keep up because you switch languages every couple of sentences. The last one I don’t speak, but I somehow know what you are saying.

Standing in that room now, I want to shout that we don’t have much time, but I can’t. You can’t stay still and neither can I. When the words finally come out, they come back an empty, lonely echo.

The music has stopped, and I can’t bear to turn it back on.