To Charlie, who died before we could be friends

Should I call you brother, child or friend? I knew of you only when you died. Before that you were just a name, my life a catalogue of names like yours, & sometimes when I’m lucky, of faces (how I wish now I remembered yours) —But then you died & the universe started talking in your voice & at first I thought I was getting mad but how could I get madder than I already was. —& the voices kept me nights thinking of the life wasted in not knowing you & the voices did not die down & I learned silence is but an illusion & so is everything. Said Milton: the mind is its own place (I only believe in priests & blind men & he was both) & slowly I managed to banish the voices by playing games with myself where I can never win & only lose. —But the universe is talking again, Charlie. This time the voice is louder, though the voice is still yours. Help me: I’d like to think this was your fault.