I occasionally make it out to one of my favorite beer stores: Wish You Were Beer. They were always a nice place to drop by. We often chatted about new beers and life.
A friend of mine mentioned to me something that he had read on Facebook. Wish You Were Beer was closing. It didn’t hit me immediately but days later it became an ironic piece of my psyche.
Pink Floyd was a band that I grew up listening to on the radio. I often was grounded and I would sit in my room with nothing to do, outside of homework. I fondly remember hearing “Wish You Were Here”. The words meant something. But they definitely mean something today.
It was one thing that I grew apart from where I grew up and that the military beat some of the “original” me into oblivion. But it was another thing that some of the things that I was growing accustomed to as an adult are starting to whither. The small things like a beer store called “Wish You Were Beer”. The ironic mudflaps of a renegade navy officer.
My injuries aside, the concept of death is creeping up on me everyday. Not just the cessation of human life function but of things that are organized. I see rocks smoothed over. I see stores closed. I see arrangements of people change. It is a burden of sorts.
Perhaps the death of what we once have known is what we are supposed to see. I don’t know the methods of “what brings tomorrow”. It is my burden to live as long as proper. And I hope that my ending is a mere road bump for someone else’s life.
I do wish you were here, my friend. I have every reason we may get our re-start. The simpler days before we were beaten. Back when our beer was tasty and we never stopped laughing. Back when sex was the thrill and we never stopped loving. I wish I was there too.