It's cold out here.
Sitting on this dock, looking out over the young day setting over this placid lake, I work hard to not think. I want to draw the mist and fog off the water and fill up my head, so that there's no room for thinking. I want to become this lake; sun shining off the calm surface, but underneath—freezing cold.
I can't stop remembering that there's no Mike in the world anymore. We were linked together by more than a rope. We were friends. We could have been more.
It's cold out here…but I'm colder inside.