I found myself missing the man today, because
Every once in a while, I forget he died.
If that sounds crazy to you, don’t worry,
One day you’ll understand.

Part of us never leaves the denial stage:
About grief, or anything else.
That’s part of what fiction is all about:
Saying “no” to reality, with gusto.

I remember once, going to his house
While he was grilling and telling stories.
His steaks weren’t great, but his stories
Were always sensational,
And always emotional.

I found myself missing the man today, because
Life is a very long canyon, and love
In an endless echo

in it