“It’s a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, “more like deer than human being.” To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.”
-Donna Tart, The Secret History
I heard you died. I heard a car hit you.
I hate thinking of you, alone, and about to die. Did you know? Did you know you were about to die? Did you know you were about to die and were you alone?
A bravest friend. The world was never on your side. You fought through so much. This life shit on you over and over again.
And then you died. Violent beginnings still, I guess, bring violent ends.
I’m not sure you were meant for this world. You were always a little too light. Even when you were here, you floated. Airy enough to get swept away. And you were swept away.
Maybe you weren’t meant for here, but to me, it doesn’t matter that this was not your place. I would do anything to have you back.
With the sweetest smile and a hopeful heart.
Etched in my brain.
A 21 year old boy. With pointed toes. And soft skin. I remember you happy. I remember you dancing around the upper west side. Running in the rain towards central park. Rolling spliffs on the law by the lake. Box wine and peeing in bushes. I remember you getting mad at me for falling in love with the wrong one. I remember feeling sad when you told me what they had done to you. You had been told your whole life you weren’t real. I remember loving you, but knowing you weren’t really here, even then.
My heart breaks. You never get to grow old. I’m sorry the world was never fair to you. Please come back.
Miss you sweet cheeks. I’ll see you in the birds.