I almost penned your name here,

A faltered pause as I caught my reflection in the blank space of paper.

I almost addressed this letter to you,

As if I could speak your name without it tasting foreign and bitter in my mouth.

I faltered again when all of these almosts began tumbling out here,

And then I almost wrote almost instead.

I am not sure what else there is to do,

When wishing a farewell to someone that I am sure I have never met.

I give him a name that is not his,

I let him share your face;

And I suppose that he can share this eulogy with you too.

Why do I always think of the ending before the beginning?

How does it always still come too fast?

How do I expect you to make sense of such a mess

When I leave you with as many explanations that I greeted you with?

How do I expect you to make sense of such a mess

When I do not know what this mess is for?

Still I will sit here, will fill another blank space

And contentment will pretend to be enough.

I find that I do not know what to say to you,

Boy I have never met.

I will turn you into art still,

I will break myself to do it.

I do not know how to let go of the versions of people that I create in my head.

In my head,

You have a dimple in your left cheek but not your right.

You don't eat pickles and you don't drink whiskey,

But you love cold beer and laughing at your own jokes, even when they are not funny.

You look good in green and when it is just the two of us.

You look best when you are trying to be soft.

In my head, I wonder what kinds of things that you wish for.

Here you are all hard edges and scarred skin,

Thicker than it should be because of the time when it had to be.

Perhaps this is why I touch you so easily,

And how you can touch me without falling apart.

A single moment in time, just one,

When you were him and he was you and

I could almost remember.