His Melody, My Melody, Our Song

He was my love,
my boy,
my personal tune.

Often, he would play the same song over,
and over,
again.

It was so undeniably heartbreaking
and agonizing,
his song.

"I am broken,
but I will fix myself for you,
even if it chips at me a little more".

And I knew he would,
without hesitation,
I knew he definitely would.

So, I grab his phone,
and I replay it,
I replay the song an uncountable amount of times.

I sang along to
the song about loving,
even if it's painful.

I sang along to
the song about endurance,
and fighting for what you want.

The song about suffering,
because suffering
was a part of intimacy.

Then after I was done singing,
and he was done dancing,
I take his phone and I play another track.

And after it was done, he would play another.
Because this was our love language,
and no one could take this away from us.

No one can take anything from him,
anything,
because he's lost enough.

Everyday, I wished he would be fine,
that he would be normal,
that he could have his happily ever after.

I hoped that he could exist freely,
without the constant affliction,
and without his disease.

And God granted my wish,
He granted it after 2 long months of praying,
but the message must've been misunderstood along the way.

I wanted to hear his voice,
I wanted to hear him sing his song,
I wanted to sing along with him.

I wanted to have long conversations at night,
of which I could hear his laughter,
and smile at his gaiety.

But I thought maybe this was meant to be,
maybe he was living the life I wanted for him,
maybe it was just without me.

So, I hoped that heaven would take him,
take his song,
and play it endlessly.

Because I vowed I would,
and to him,
Heaven and I were the same.

And as I grow old,
I forget the way his eyes shined,
I forget the smell of his painfully soft hair.

But I never forget his melody,
my melody,
our melody.