Mourning a loss.

I don’t form a lot of attachments. The number of people I consider my friends can easily be counted on both hands. The number of people I consider my best, most important, most trustworthy, and lifelong friends is significantly smaller.

My insecurities, formed by the bullying I experienced in school, limit my abilities to fully open up and trust. Unlike the 400 million people who are active on facebook, I find myself terrified of the idea of putting my real name on the internet. It strikes me as wrong, foolhardy, and idiotic. I place an excessive value on my privacy which is why, incidentally, that this blog is anonymous.

It really shouldn’t be a surprise that I form attachments with people who are safe, unattainable, and in some cases don’t even speak the same language that I do. I’m not a fool; I realize that feelings of affection for a person who I’ve never met are not reciprocated. I realize that it’s a happy little fantasy, free of the realities of real, human friendships. I am intelligent enough to know that a crush on a celebrity or an infatuation with a fictional character is just a non-threatening, harmless diversion. I also understand that I’m hardly the only person to think that, for example, Johnny Depp is a particularly attractive man, and have a few naughty fantasies about him.

And yet…

Somebody I loved yet did not know has died.

I’ve been claiming to be distraught, but that’s not a strong enough word. I’m not distraught, sad, or upset. I’m heartbroken.

This is when it hurts. This is when I wish I could have known him in more than just his music. I could sit at his wake and hug our mutual friends. We could talk about the times we had together and all the little idiosyncrasies that only friends know. We could be strong for one another; be strong for him, because maybe that’s what he would have wanted.

Instead I’m pondering what fans mean to artists who spend their lives making music. Instead I’m feeling kind of stupid for caring so much. Instead I’m wondering why the hole somebody leaves behind is always larger than the place they inhabited before they died. Instead I’m wondering why I never sent him fan mail. Instead I’m wondering how I’m going to handle when one of those few, precious, real friends that I have pass away.

There’s a lesson in this, I’m sure of it.

In a few days it won’t hurt as much.

In a few days I’ll have begun to remember him, in my own way.

In a few weeks my preoccupation with my own life will have pushed him to the back of my mind.

In a few months I’ll sigh gently at hearing one of his songs, and wish he was still part of the
world.

The nagging ache will disappear. Maybe I’ll light a candle on his birthday and the anniversary of his death, as I do for others.

I want to say goodbye, but as an agnostic I’ve never been much for prayer. It seems as appropriate as anything else to do it here.

To D---, From Fluff.
I love you.
I miss you.
I wish you peace.
You will always be remembered.
You will always have a home in my heart.