Maybe it’s because it’s August. Why do I always seem to implode in August? Why does the fever rage? Everything happens in August. I grow another year older. I mark another year without you.

4 years ago. You were gone. Without saying goodbye. Nobody says goodbye to me, nobody. Not my mother, not my father, not my cousin Ray, not my cats. Not you. You all just suddenly die, leaving me alone, struggling to be strong. Must be strong, for there is no one to lean on. All I have is me.....everybody leaves, one way or the other, everybody leaves.

Somehow it was easier at first. I was free. Free from the fever. That's what I called it, the Neil Fever. Hot, tossing, turning, churning desire laced with hopelessness intermingled with outlandish hopes and dreams; none of it based in reality. But you were dead now, 9 months to the day from my mother, within the year of my dear cousin Ray....I was still numb. Besides, you can't yearn for a dead man. Can you?

You were dead. But not buried.

I still walked into my office every morning and picked up the phone, waiting to hear the stutter tone that told me I had a voice mail - your regular morning call. But the regular dial tone mocked me - no Virginia honey to lace your mornings, you fool. Neil is dead.

So I bought a house and moved on. So it seemed.

You were dead. But not buried.

I started having dreams of you. Dreams of you climbing up out of a coffin, dancing a weird jerky dance like the dwarf in the Red Room. A zombie standup comic telling jokes no one could understand.

Or dreams where I knew you were near, frustratingly close - I could hear your voice around the corner, but when I turned that corner I'd only catch a glimpse of a fleeting swift shadow, a shadow I could never catch.

Or dreams of receiving a letter from you, then being unable to read it; you never wrote me a letter in real life, why should dream life be any different I suppose.

It was you...but not you...

And then, not so long ago, I had a dream where you came and said goodbye. Your essence was so strong, like a heady perfume, it invaded every nook and cranny of my soul. I held that secret within me all the next day - Neil had visited me! It was like that time in the airport, soon after you died, when for a split second I thought you walked past me - that physical experience of being in your presence.

So, you had come to say goodbye. You were moving on - nice knowing ya kid, thanks for all the support, time for me to go. And I knew, I knew that this was necessary, but I didn't want to lose you, for I feared I was losing you forever.

And I think I have.

Somehow the loss of you seems stronger now. I don’t dream of you at all. Perhaps because I think of you so much. If I could just hear your voice one more time. I think of your voice and the tears start and I cannot staunch their flow.

Sometimes I can't remember what your voice sounded like.

So maybe it’s just because it’s August. It was in August that you whipped out those tacky silk carnations from inside your leather jacket. It was in August that I last held your hand. So maybe it’s just because it’s August that I rage with this fever, this insatiable longing for love.

Or maybe it’s just because you never loved me.

Jan