Sunday, June 14, 2009

For Mr. Pink

I lost an old friend last week.

And that's putting it lightly.

Needless to say, this has done a number on me, but more importantly, to people in my life that I treasure. Months ago I watched as my dearest friend tried to save this lost soul, as she is inclined to do, and I now watch as she struggles to forgive herself for not doing so. I can only hope she will realize, as I did, that no one can save someone who is already gone.

I dug up the ol' high school yearbooks the other night while in a maudlin mood, but knowing better, I then proceeded to "hide" them from myself...under my COFFEE my LIVING ROOM...where I spend 90% of my time when HOME. Yep, I'm a genius.

So here I am, one week & some change later, and I feel my toe nudge something under the coffee table, and I know; It's now or never...look through those yearbooks, cry, and WRITE ABOUT IT, because I know why I dug them out and I especially know why I hid them.

Hurts. Too. MUCH.

Time. Sucks.

I've waited to write about this because I wanted to do it it right. I'm 31, and depending on which day you ask me, that's shockingly old or terribly young. Either way, old crushes die hard & memories are forever.

So this is for Max Leavitt, a rockstar in the truest sense of the term. He lived fast, hard, full, and sadly, as so many truly tortured artists do, died far too young.

From my high school senior year yearbook page...truer words never rang so uncomfortably loud:

"In the long, long trip of growing, there are stops along the way. For thoughts of all the softs things and a look at yesterday, for a chance to fill our feelings with comfort and with ease, and then tell the new tomorrow, you can come now when you please."

Goodbye, Max. To know you really was to adore you. To share a stage with you was an honor. To share this life with you was a joy. To miss you will be forever.

Farewell & good luck. I hope you found peace. Rest easy, sweet friend.

And most importantly, in the words of your idol Billy Joe, whom you dragged us to see all those years ago at Gilman Street:

I hope you had the time of your life.

I have a sneaking suspicion you did.


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