Old Wood Cool

He was old wood cool
Rugged, lined and beautiful
Someone people clung to
Like paint

He didn’t choose his friends
Everyone was welcome
And he played no favourites
But few weathered well in his company
Most faded quickly
In that radiant presence

I loved the bastard
And hated him

How could anyone be so goddamn perfect
Yet completely unaware of it
Devoid of ego
Completely naive
To the power he wielded
Over everything he touched
Over anyone who fell under his gaze
Over any room he walked into

He loved everyone
And everyone loved him
Even those who hated him
Who nonetheless
Felt like better human beings
In his presence
Only to suffer an aching longing
As soon as he moved on to the next thing
Which was all too often

In the end
I couldn’t keep up
Fell to the wayside
Like so many other bits
Of chipped paint
Feeling a hollowness
Which his presence
Would never fill again
I could never feel fulfilled
Again