To that laugh that was too loud,
That smile that seemed too bold,
That one that annoyed me because I never understood how to not be afraid.
To that anger that signed passions,
That concern that asked questions,
That fervor that was starting to color me, change me, and fire up new ambitions.
but now lost forever.
To that love that was something to be jealous of,
That tenderness that moved fearsome boundaries,
That affection that I know would’ve won you so much,
because it somehow always worked.
To all those things that should’ve been said aloud,
those words that should’ve been clear,
those questions that I should’ve asked that I failed to
because I’m me.
To those texts that could’ve be longer,
Those conversations that another could’ve started,
Those messages that annoyed me because you could’ve done anything better
than waste time worrying
about me.
To that time that we planned and,
those meals and memories we’d make and,
Those stories and jokes I promised to tell and the shifts we’d share, and
the many things that you would’ve “gotten
used to.”
To that day,
That one that took everything away,
That item list, the mop, the sugar, the baking powder, the garbage bags,
and all the everything
I prepared
to pay.
To all the words that mean nothing; that you can’t hear; that aren’t perfect; that I took for granted because “you’d hear them next week”.
To the patronizing bullshit that we do because we didn’t value your life while you lived; that are never good enough; that don’t bring you back.
To the self-destruction that I’m not strong enough to do; that might prove love.
To the other things I can never do because we were supposed to do them together.
To my semester as a black screen. To turning it on to get the grade. To how much I let you down. To time moving slower. To the time we wasted. To not enough time. To never making it up to you. To your excitement. To everything we planned. To the places we’d go. To the things I’d show. To the moments that would’ve surprised us. To finding home. To all our bad luck. To the wrong people. To listening to them. To realizing too slowly. To counting on fingers. To “before” and “after”. To just getting started. To feeling punished. To bad religion. To poor advice. To nothing good. To no more chances. To blame. To an empty room. To a website abandoned. To dead weekends. To unspoken trust. To that I betrayed. To the people I hurt. To looking away. To the weight of your dreams. To why me. To why you. To knowing that you should be here. To knowing what you deserved. To knowing nothing. To deserving to know. To the songs you can’t hum. To those foods you can’t eat. To spaces you can’t fill. To the people you can’t meet. To happiness you can’t feel. To the air you can’t smell. To the love you can’t get. To chills that can’t run down your spine. To the heat that can’t force you to sweat. To the pain we can’t share. To the stories I can’t hear. To the freedom you can’t crave. To you, I couldn’t save. To cold hands. To dry brushes. To dead phones. To shut eyes. To closed mouths. To silent hearts. To stiff body. To soft body. To dirty face. To bystander. To cold eyes. To flashbacks. To no sleep. To daydreams. To reality. To new burdens. To the burdenless. To the content. To the lucky. To back to normal. To screaming. To crying. To praying. To begging. To lost minds. To mindful aching. To saying sorry. To harsh words. To something stolen. To hijacked futures. To brokenness. To tragedy without reason. To full pages. To empty words. To consuming thoughts. To thinking of you. To the unwanted forever. To all the nevers. To the no mores. To texts that end. To everything meaningless. To meaningless everything. To keepsakes. To reading it. To being here. To reeling everyday. To the despicable left alone. To “did that really happen?”
To doing too little. To trying everything. To losing chances. To talking to no one. To trying to remember. To trouble laughing. To watching smiles. To writing emails. To getting nothing. To not getting it. To everything they get. To all they can ignore. To the name they forget. To seeing them cry. To seeing it stop. To what a life is worth. To erasure. To repression. To how much you meant. To the right way. To not enough photos. To what you’d do. To veneration; To romanticize; To nostalgize; To no answers. To giving up. To daring to move. To the scourge of a grave. To filthiness. To garbage. To stupid faces. To stupid people. To “shit”. To “fuck”. To “no”. To what I want. To do-overs. To waking up, again and again. To not wanting to. To death and dying. To being beaten. To losing hope. To losing dreams. To losing a friend. To feeling nothing.
To vanishing.
To guilt; To regret; To chills; To sadness; To disgust; To envy; To spite; To rage; To loneliness.
To even more.
It’s too, too much.
Yet, they still gave me so much work.
They still wrote happy e-mails.
They still posed for photos
They still move on
They still laugh
They still smile
They forget
I would tell you these struggles
but you’re not here to hear them.
Too late.