from the collection of: d. heidel

How do I find that man again?  He was a friend once.  His name – Tom, I think.  I joined myspace with a thought of finding a friend I’d lost touch with – his name was Theodorus. 

Tom was everyone’s friend.  He was a gift that was given to the nube.  He was there, smiling over his back at you.  You could tell he was smiling.  But what lay behind him was too tiny, too pixilated to really tell much of anything.  Tom.

He’s gone now.

Or maybe he’s left business to work at an art boutique on Cape Cod where he can step from the sea air into a brightly-lit studio where local painters sell their works.  It’s a nice thought.  Nice thought.

Nice.

Prescient maybe for what I found of Theodorus.  He’d been gone for seven years.  These seven years having unwrapped themselves from my body without change – through the frigid winters and sweltering summers, unending, unending – with no regard for the absence of Theodorus’ being.  I had been apart from his body.  And now I knew that I had been apart, too, from his entire existence as that life had been snuffed from the firmament.

Nice.  Prescient.  Or some limbo between the two.