Hey Phil

She used to say that pink was her favorite color because that was the color of a brick as it turned to dust when she smashed it on the ground.

Philip, my friend; How are you?

I'm doin' fine. Are you?

Last time I saw you,

You said you were trying to break into your top secret military car that was disguised as a police patrol car.

But it wasn't really that, was it?

Or was it?

Is it?

Or is it not?

Is that the question?

Do poems rhyme?

Can you taste,

Silence?

I'm aiming for a place where my lips don't quiver and my breath doesn't shake.

Am I fine?

Are you fine?

Are we fine?

I'm doin' alright.

Do you remember the breeze in the crack in the door? Coming from the hallway that was closed off,

Do you remember sitting and breathing in the air? Feeling the breeze?

I remember laying on the ground next to you, feeling our breeze crack, staring up at popcorn ceiling tiles and fluorescents, swearing it almost felt like the beach.

It smelled like the beach today, when I was passing by Banner Marsh, in my car, with the windows down, it's nice out.

Are you out? Do you know that? I hope so, but it didn't sound like out is where you were going next.

I hope wherever you are, you have a better breeze, some sunshine and something to do.

I swear I didn't understand half of the shit you said,

But that's okay, because we just understood the silence was okay. And we didn't need to talk, but we did, about anything.

About Spades, about Cornhole, about People, about my Children, about your Brothers, about the Day, about the Staff, about Calendars.

Did it matter? No. None of it did. I'll never see you again.

Good-Bye my friend. You'll be missed. Thank you for being there in 6 West.