Terminal Romance

"What's your favourite song?" he had asked. "Your favourite song, ever?"

It was February, 2020. We had just begun and I had just gotten home from visiting Stef in Edmonton. It was a big trip - my first tattoo and the best I had felt in ages.

"Terminal Romance by Matt Mays," I had answered. "I would argue it is one of the best Canadian songs ever written."

And he reveled me with stories of singing Matt Mays with his friends, at parties, and when he was at home alone.

We both loved Matt.

"Broke the winter's back and split for the sun,
Shot through the night from a frozen gun.
With my eyes to the skies,
And one foot to the ground..."

And it was then that I knew.

But

"I really gotta go...
Away."

We never could have seen it all, really.

All we saw was so much promise ahead of us as he said, "You know, I think there might be another person in this house soon..."

"It's a rough n' tumble come down at the break of day,
Sitting here staring out across the bay.
With that sunrise in your eyes,
There's never really too much to say..."

We never had to say much.

And when I was better from a bout of influenza B we spent a weekend in my little Cove, hiking the trails and walking over the grounds that I had spent every day walking over when I was a kid.

Sitting there staring out across the bay.

"But...
I really gotta go.
Away."

I never thought he would have to go.

He never thought he would have to, either.

No choice in the matter, really.

And as we sat there on those grassy hills, staring at the waves crashing on the rocks that had seen my grandfather drag fish up over them and numerous shipwrecks wash into them, neither of us ever thought he would have to.

Not that soon, anyway.

"'Cause heartbreaks are uncurable,
And I'm up all night,
Stone-faced in New York City
Trying to set things right..."

We had found this pizza place in New York City on Instagram - East Side Pizza - and how C loved it when it was bed time and we'd all watch videos of the cheese stringing, the ridiculous slices, and we had promised that in September we were all going to go.

But just last week I found myself - stone-faced in New York City.

Flying over the ferris wheels, the lights and bridges.

Alone.

"She talks with her hands and she's saying goodbye,
Nobody's gonna' tell me why.
They just say time, time heals all,
But I don't believe them..."

I never, in a million years, thought goodbye would be so soon.

"Time heals nothing, my darling, it just dims," said a widow to me at a hockey game shortly after.

And I felt vindicated in my belief that time heals nothing.

"Now time rolls on religiously, swift and sly,
Bullet train full of souls riding through the night.
Everyone thinks they can slow it down,
I used to be like that before I knew you..."

You cannot slow it down.

God knows I tried.

God.

Religiously, swift and sly.

And as I said when I looked into the eyes of the Catholic minister who came by the day after he died:

"Fuck your god."

"There ain't nothing as dead as a dead romance..."

Nothing.

Nothing feels as cold and dead as when the light is stripped from your life and their heart stops beating.

Nothing.

Because on that night mine did too.

"Nothing more alive than the city tonight..."

And yet everything keeps moving.

New York City was as bright as I had always imagined it - just not as vibrant. It was missing the soul of how I had imagined it.

"Storefront windows reflecting me,
Where my steel cut heart can feel the electricity..."

Steel cut.

That is how my heart feels now.

How ironic that the next tattoo you had planned was the steel cut heart from the Terminal Romance cover, to both express how you felt about the music but to also immortalize how we had connected.

"Look at me now, whose gonna take me there?
From this lighting and the thunder and you, the eighth wonder..."

Nobody can, really.

I took myself there - to New York City and I watched the lights dance and the ferris wheel spin like nothing had happened; like the world had not been interrupted and blown up, like everything was normal.

Nothing is normal anymore.

Tonight is Valentine's eve.

We were never big on holidays but you had made a comment about how we would celebrate the next week because we were finally heading to Jamaica on that trip we had sacrificed and saved for.

I had come home that week and there were roses on the counter.

"Who owns the roses?" I had asked as I strolled past to get dinner ready.

"You, sweetness," you had said and held me so tight.

"There ain't nothing as dead as a dead romance..."

But our romance isn't dead, is it?

Just you.

Taken.

And I am left here, trying to make peace with it all.

"She sang rock and roll with the devil..."

And I will if that is what it takes to see you again.

Every night in my dreams you are there.

"I really gotta go,
Away..."

And I know you would have never left by choice.

Matt played your benefit concert.

We met, we hugged and he sang "Drive On" for me as my heart broke.

It was just another moment of connection.

Happy Valentine's Day, Brad.

I love you and I miss you.