You asked me why I was single, once.
"I'm too busy. Plus I don't believe in love," I told you.
You thought that was sad.
But you said you were too busy to be dating anyone, too.
Yet somehow we found time for each other.
Six dates in one week.
Countless messages, phone calls.
So many inside jokes as we wove the web of our private world.
In secret, for we didn't want to share what we had.
And then you left for your adventure, as you had planned.
"I'll see you soon," not "goodbye!"
Because you were coming back.
Because I was never good at goodbyes.
So instead you wrote me postcards on your travels.
You invited me to come join you, on the back of your bike.
See the world together.
We talked about what would happen when you returned.
We planned an idea of a life together.
Planned our next adventures.
Batgirl and the riddler. Against the world.
Our alter egos in our private world.
A world that's gone now. Broken into a thousand pieces.
Now that you're gone.
How can life go on when you're not coming back?
When every task seems a chore.
When every little thing reminds me of you.
Last time we spoke you told me I owed you a poem.
But this isn't what I was supposed to write.
It was supposed to be about happiness, love.
It was supposed to be about anything but this.
So now you go on to your next adventure.
Through the fields of asphodel and into elysium.
Into the great beyond.
Your taught me it was okay to love again and I fell for you.
Over and over again.
Forever in my heart, forever in my love.
I miss you already, Al.