A Letter to Mr. Oxblood

The email arrived today, like a heavy boot-kick to an already wounded dog.  N. said you died last Friday night – underneath the B. bridge.  He said you either fell or jumped.  My heart says it’s probably the latter.  Two deaths in two days.

Did you visit the rose garden first? It’s probably beautiful right now.  Did you stick your nose deep in the huge heady heirlooms?  Did you pull handfuls of petals from the bushes, scattering them about yourself, on the pathway, in the fountain? Did you tuck one in your breast pocket? Did you think about it first or did you decide in the heat of the moment? Could we have stopped you?

I was never strong enough for you.  I could never nudge you – show you how beautiful you and your world truly were.  I was too much in reality – and you were forever in your special dreamland.  I’ve wished there was a woman who could take care of you the way I could not.

It wasn’t easy for you here.  I wish there was some other way.  I do, however, understand. 

As you move on, you take a piece of my heart with you.

With Love,

Miss Prussian Blue


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