"Getting older's not been on my plans"

  There is something beautifully broken about deja vu. I heard once that it is your mind telling you that you have been here, in this moment, and survived. That all will be well. But I suppose this wasn't entirely concrete deja vu. This was me rewriting memories.   Three years ago, I sat in this exact theatre waiting for Ben Howard to sing to me. I waited for him to open up and bare his soul in a way that no musician ever had. This time, although still waiting for him, it was just night and day in my circumstance.   Walking the long distance, was somewhat of a different cadence. Last time, I walked next to a man who broke me and tried to glue me back together with an emotionless dalliance and cacophonous pleasantries. This time I couldn't stop thinking of the man who gave nothing but euphoric words of forever.   To be honest, I wasn't sure how Ben would speak to me this time around. Would it be a stroll down memory lane or would it be a whole new adventure full of passio

 It was hard enough remembering my toast. The one I had prepared so diligently and thought and thought over to no end. It was something he and I had talked about a few times--the fact I would have one memorized and ready to publish and his would be winged from the top of his head. But, with a rough start I did remember. And my tribute, of course, mentioned my brother. How could it not?   See, I never wanted to be with anyone who didn't know my brother. I wanted him to continue to be alive and well within the hearts of me and my beloved. I talked, often, about Andy. I referenced my brother in random conversations he and I would hold...especially since there were many things about him that reminded me of Andy. I told him so. He didn't flinch.   It was rough not having him there to dance with me; it was rough not having him there wish me well; it was just rough. Not any less beautiful, but rough none-the-less. It wasn't that I felt him there, as many people say, "Oh, yo