Happy October! Halloween is coming. I am very excited. School is kicking me hard, but at least I get to sleep for as long as I want tomorrow. Do you think you’d wake up tired after being in a coma? That would be so disappointing. Though, to be honest, I haven’t felt not-tired in years.
So, Halloween #7. An awful number. Half of your life and nearly half of mine. I wish I could do some good, but I don’t know what to say to make anyone listen to me. Nobody misses me. If they did, they’d say something. I have easily accessible social medias, and no one is being stopped from messaging them. I’m sure you can’t, but others can. Pappy was using Facebook at some point. Alas, he has other grandchildren now, as I saw.
Here is another poem that reminded me of you. It is called Adonais, written by Percy Shelley, regarding the death of John Keats. I include only the first two stanzas as the poem is long. It is becoming difficult in my mind to separate your loss from a death. I often think that you will always be nine years old.
I weep for Adonais—he is dead!
Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: “With me
Died Adonais; till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity!”
Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,
When thy Son lay, pierc’d by the shaft which flies
In darkness? where was lorn Urania
When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,
‘Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise
She sate, while one, with soft enamour’d breath,
Rekindled all the fading melodies,
With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,
He had adorn’d and hid the coming bulk of Death.
With love,
Alice