hey.

i heard that you’ve finally gotten the opportunity to do some of the work you’ve wanted to for a long while. congratulations. i hope it takes off & does everything you ever wanted it to do. i wish you great success, for real. i had always hoped that you would go ahead & follow whatever path you wished to — independent of me & everyone else on this entire earth. i don’t know if you ever realized it, but all the energy you poured into worrying about wtf i did with myself was ideal for your shit. maybe you did, or perhaps because we’re not in touch at all, it’s easier for you to do that. either way, good for you. keep it up. the forward movement is soooooo important. i do wonder if we’ll cross paths again sometime, but that’s nothing i can really consume myself with. if we do, we do. & if we don’t, then we don’t. i haven’t forgotten you though. i still remember the slick, slightly crooked smile. the smirk that came across your lips when i’d see you & you said my name . . . the playful way in which you’d greet me on the telephone, as if we were best friends & could always pick up where we left off. & we could sometimes. other days, it seemed like the estrangement was inevitable so i wouldn’t even try to make it pleasant between us. formalities. & you tried to play like there was nothing brewing under the surface, as if the elephant in the room weren’t sitting on both our laps.
oh, well. i noticed early on that for all the mouth you had, you never wanted to go toe to toe with me. that’s fine. it always made me wonder wtf you were so afraid of. i’m reasonable. i can be sweet when i want to, but my tongue does cut like a machete. words were always my forté, you said. you knew i was as dangerous with a pen as you were. only you drew. you painted. your images accomplished the same things my phrases did. i felt that you were jealous somewhat. let’s face it: in everyday dealings we do not create visual art to express what we want. in situations. when your dinner is cold at a restaurant, you do not sketch dissatisfaction. i peeped that. & that’s okay, too.
i just wonder wtf you’d say to me now if we saw each other.
would it be another greasy smile, with you asking me a grip of questions when it’s not your damn business to begin with? would you really be tired enough to try to pick up where you dropped the ball?
i wonder.
but at the same time, i don’t have the patience to even sweat you. you know how to get a hold of me.
this is a belated father’s day letter.
hope you had a dope one.

addendum: this is a continuation of this post, but is primarily addressed to my father. i googled him today. i find it bizarre that he’s worked on a parenting initiative that deals w/ child support . . . when there’s at least one errant sibling i have. when he’s gonna be in arrears until i’m 30+. this shit is crazy. but the parallels between him & the other person i’m thinking of are real scary.

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