Six years ago Lila rang me to tell me your body had been found, you were coming home. (Lila just had a baby boy. Did you send him butterflies too?) Am trying to think about how big your life still is for me, not how short it was for you. So, surprise, here's your beloved Jethro Tull! I still can't be bothered about their music, I sifted through a lot of rubbish until I found a music I could cope with. I can more cope with this one - in fact, I think it's gorgeous. You'd like that so much... I like to think of you tending pulsar wind nebulae somewhere (someone has to) so that's what I'll do. "I'll still be loving you tonight" as well, Tig, no matter when tonight comes.
'Pip, why can't you sleep?', he used to ask her. He always could, all he had to do was close his eyes. When the entire world lay dormant and only the occasional cow could be heard she derived comfort from watching him, dead to the world, an archangel of slumber.
(Funny thing, he's very dead to the world now still, it's just not very comforting.)
Sometimes she just can't sleep, as though a switch is missing from her biology. And sometimes she fears the desolate nightmares with gorillas and Laika and starving polar bears she senses lurking, again. So she stays awake for as long as she can, keeping herself busy with music and writing, and she pretends.
She pretends she's not broken, she pretends he is whole, she pretends she is not standing alone by the edge of the cliff. She knows she is but she's pretended everything is normal all day, who the fuck cares, a few more hours aren't going to hurt.
He was her great protector and now he's gone, she's numb anyway. Also pissed off, and past-lonely and scared. Sometimes she almost hates him, but she knows she never does. And tomorrow can't come soon enough.