He was more
museum than man,
which is to say
he was full of
dead things preserved in
glass cages, things
you could see but you
couldn’t quite

He was like
hints of sunshine
peeking through clouds on
stormy days, somehow
always on the horizon like
no matter how far you drive
you can never quite
get there.

He was something
beautiful and familiar, altogether
wanted and wasted, and I
was never quite
close enough.

–a.j., // dearlittleink