Carolina Confidential

If I died last night…

Would you be angry you didn’t call me back?
Would you remember the last thing I said to you?
Would it be something worth holding on to… or something you’d wish you could change?

If I died last night, you’d hear people talk about me—and they’d list the bullet points.
Where I was born.
What I did.
Who I loved.
They’d tidy my life into a neat little paragraph for the sake of comfort.

But I was never tidy.
And I hope you wouldn’t remember me that way.

I’d want you to remember the mess.
The way I said the wrong thing at the wrong time.
The way I loved with my whole damn chest—even when it cost me.
The way I laughed too loud, cried too hard, stayed too long, and walked away too late.

I’d want you to remember that I showed up—even bleeding, even tired, even scared.
And that I showed up for you.

If I died last night…
I’d hope you’d remember the little things no one else would.
Like the way I always noticed the sky at sunset and made you stop to look at it with me.
Or how I remembered what you said months ago, even when you thought I wasn’t listening.
Or how you’d look forward to the next thing I’d write, wondering if it might make you laugh, think, or cry.
Or how I could brighten the room with one well-timed joke at exactly the wrong moment.
Or the way I’d squeeze your shoulder when I passed behind you—my quiet way of saying I see you without the words.

And I’d hope you’d remember that I told you the truth, even when it wasn’t pretty.
That I wasn’t afraid to show you the cracks in me.
That I believed connection mattered more than perfection—every damn time.

If I died last night, I’d want you to promise me something:
That you wouldn’t wait for “the right time” to say what matters.
That you’d call when you think of someone—even if it’s been years.
That you’d tell people they matter, out loud, while you still can.
And if you don’t… don’t you dare stand over my ashes wishing you had.

And if my name ever comes up years from now, when the world has moved on and you’ve lived a hundred new lives without me…
I hope you pause for just a second, smile through the ache, and think,
“Damn, he was one of the real ones.”

Because I was.
And I loved you for real.
And if I died last night, you’d damn well better remember that.

Until next time (maybe)—
Stay safe. Make good choices. And as always, stay kinky My friends.

~Dray Orion