We always wished you’d be something.
Something we wanted
or wished you wanted something and sometimes it seemed like you did.
Clever magician creating when we couldn’t see you in some dark place in the studio some dark place in your mind and you’d emerge with an intricate, fragile piece that touched us and we asked you how you did it.
Maybe we didn’t believe you enough didn’t believe you didn’t trust you with yourself and you know damn well why.
Our hands always holding you up and pushing you on stage and saying, “Okay, so show us,” and our lips would tremble and we’d pray and there you’d go, you would fall to pieces and let us down, wouldn’t you.
Then those few times you’d shine in the sun and it made it worse for all of us because you’d make us have to believe and make us a party to watching you crumble watching you with your fatal wounds to the heart.
You disappointed us Elliot.