So the other night I as I slept I remembered Wayne was gone. I thought all of this deep trauma had disappeared; he had passed away in October of last year - I had stopped crying most nights in March. Sure, I still miss him, but now in May I thought at least I was coping.
Then - it started.
It was like he was still here. I could not remember the specific environment, but he said something funny and we both let out a slight but collective giggle. Then we couldn't let it go.
The enormity of what he said started to build and we both started laughing harder. Then it developed into him laughing at me - and me laughing at him.
Maybe he had a little more self control than I did, as I fell to the ground. I was laughing so hard I couldn't form the sound of laughter. I just lie on the ground and fill my lungs with air every minute or so, gasping to feed the pain of my stomach and lungs pulsating. How can I describe it? The agony of intense humour. The occasional begging of "please stop", coupled with the phenomenon of us collectively wiping way our tears.
Then I woke up.
Tears of joy rapidly turned into tears of pain and remorse. I was sweating like something that sweats profusely then I sat up, my head in my hands.
As selfish as this may seem, I couldn't give a fat rats ass about any other ability, and it is not lost me that his talent on guitar was more than substantial.
He was a genius of joy and fuck it, I want him back.
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