Justin

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Content Warning: Mention of Death


Neons and City of Night

left me starry-eyed and then

BAM you arrived like you'd

just stepped off the page,

skin for skins, blond and

golden, alias London,

bathed in your own

personal spotlight, dancer-

lean arms laced with scars.

Blue eyes at times haunted

though oft still dazzling.

Years later, once I thought

you'd slipped off the grid

beyond all hope of contact,

I showed a friend an old

black and white of you

in a cemetery just to prove

I'd once known someone

as lovely as James Marsters'

Spike on Buffy.

But today I found out

for years you may have been

one mutual friend away

from us reconnecting. And

now you're gone forever.

I remember sneaking out to

see The Crow with you on

opening night, oversold so

our whole group ended up

lying on the floor in front of

the front row. You wore a

black mesh shirt and leather

jacket, every bit as badass as

Eric Draven. Have you since

met Brandon?

No more swapping stories,

no apology for the time I

kissed you goodbye when

you were too plastered to

know it was me, no

introducing my daughter, she

would've been five or six when

you died. I've been through

a lifetime in the interim years,

but it would've been nice to

say hello again instead of

just goodbye. 

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