Marking five years…

These will never be enough, but…

the spray of post-it notes sticking out of books he lent me; lightning-fast dance of references, gathering knowledge; a head—shaved, curly—bent over a book; the ecstatic, overlapping discusison of films, art, novels, theory, people; the putting up of—and putting a hole in—a tent; struggling, hands held, through sand; arguments about who took whose hand and started it all; writing excellent, completely illogical philosophy whilst utterly drunk; relationship and non-relationship.

We have all been marked by G— in some way—touched, impressed, etched. I speak today because G— loved me, and I love him. His marking of me has been incredible. He is etched into every part of me and my life. He is the background to my every thought and act. He has marked me—body, mind, heart, blood. We shared so much, and he gave me so much of this world, so much joy. His life made me ever more open to the world and all its infinite possibilities, infinite, infinite riches. Beyond surface, beyond depth, beyond anything I can ever say he touched me. He loved me—as I did him—into being. So when I say that G— was—and is— mine, I don’t mean I possess him. I mean that he is etched into me. He has marked me, carved me—all of me. I carry him with me forever, forever beloved scars too much a part of me to ever lose.

I read something different at the funeral, aloud, to and for others; this was for us, with rose red:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                                    i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keep the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Or as you yourself put it, with characteristic passion and sparseness,

Words are all I have
And they are insufficient
Lacking you, and tears.