On bandaging the wounds to keep from bleeding out unfulfilled potential, on soothing the scars on a broken heart cut by unrequited love. On, and on, and on I must go.
For so long, I demanded that your soul belong to me, eternally shaken when you were ripped from this world, even after a relentless series of overwhelming revelations which spanned the better part of my young adulthood. And selfishly, I wanted so desperately to hold you down, to own you, to own your love, to keep you to myself for forever. But you were never mine to keep.
A once unconditional love becomes conditional by way of Death. Memories now cast in shadows, of what cannot or was never meant to be. I see now that you yearned to be lifted up, made eternal and immortal.
You belong to the Universe. You could not be contained. Your love could not be pinned, extrapolated, used, or sucked dry. Your love is a brilliant light, lightly permeating the senses of those around and beyond you so that they will not feel alone. I’m not alone when I think of you, when I’m swimming in your love. Bountiful, comforting, and utterly enveloping.
The immensity of you is destined for more, a higher power that touches the lives of those you could not reach while imprisoned by the body. You are a god among men, a deity among those who cannot understand you, for you are far too divine. You are fantasy. You are unfathomable. You are.
Your light continues to shine; on, and on, and on, and on.
Rest in peace, Geronimo.