*Just a brief note that in post entries that don’t have a specific name but mostly consist of the pronoun “he”, I’m usually referring to Michael. Especially in these earlier days when he played a more prominent role in my life. I don’t want to seem redundant saying his name in the beginning of each post which is why I’m mentioning this now.*
It’s as if we are reliving each others pasts despite our progressions toward the future. Is this a lesson of empathy to eliminate the judgement I harbored towards him? Is this the worlds way of lending him the lenses in which I perceived life when our paths initially intertwined?
I will never forget the haunting tales of near accidental overdoses and drug fueled dazes in which bonds were formed and shattered. He’d tell me these stories with a straight face and a shrug, oblivious to how painful it was for me to digest and interpret his words.
I saw myself as someone whose eyes had been opened by the wonders of Slaughterhouse Five. I felt I was someone who had a steady grasp on the direction of my future as well as a pretty good understanding of the mechanics of time and space thanks to that novel.
Those philosophies seem irrelevant to my reality now. It feels as if I have been teleported back into the days of destruction and triumph he faced in 2014. Meanwhile, he holds a near identical mindset to what I once had in 2015. He’s currently trying to steer me toward a brighter path as I did to him because now he is the one pained to hear my accounts of ketamine kisses.