It’s a dark night tonight.

I’m restless. We’d sit in the Park and drink coffee. We’d take the world apart. Politics was important to us. We’d discuss Trump.

I wish we’d hadn’t wasted our time discussing that ridiculousness.

History is written in sorrow. Truth can never be hidden. Days come to a sudden end.

He called me one day and said there was only a short-time left. Brain cancer. I can’t remember the kind.

Maybe a year, but a year turned out to be optimistic. It was really weeks.

Life just like that. A snap of the finger and it’s gone.

I recently looked through my journal and found a quote from some research I’d been doing on faith. I’m a believer. I see the Divine Spirit in the stars. I was never sure what he believed. In the end he spoke of Buddha.

Our last call was four days ago. I was sitting in a dog park. He was out in New Jersey. He asked me again about my faith. I had this quote for him, something I heard on a trip to the Northern Territory in Australia. Before I could tell him the words my dog got in a spat. I’ll call you back, I said, and I did, but he didn’t answer.

That very night he took a turn for the worse. He lingers now. On a silver thread. Slipping from us. It’s a dark night tonight.

I’m left with the words I never shared. ‘We are born from our own eternity.’ I write them tonight. They light the stars. They reach out to him and gather him in. A friend of mine is dying. And I’m feeling the last gifts he gave us all. Peace.

Writer | Composer | Producer | Human | Christopher lives and works in New York City. www.christophermchale.com

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