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If i didn't say goodbye,
it wouldn't bè real. 
I couldn't say goodbye,
because for me it would never be real. 

11 years later and still its not real. 
But missing you dearly. 
That's real. 
Thinking of you every day that's real. 
I found and picked up a Penny today. 
Was that you sending luck my way?

What is happening to me?
I can hardly remember you anymore. 
'Heck' i can just barely remember me,
or what day/month/even year it may be. 

Even though your gone, i want to get to know you.
See if you were like me.
As i waved to a magpie, 3rd one this month. 
I can't help but wonder. Yet again, as i shudder. 
Then it start's to rain and thunder.
I smile... 
Stealing my thought's.

Where was i..? 
Oh yes.. Rain&thunder Then i shudder. 
Deja-vu as i wonder. 
Tryin to remember, just as i forget.
More and more as i do.

Even my closest memories 
My memories of you. ***
-I wrote this about my Mom who died a week after my 16th birthday.
 Jun 2019 Mia Vacarelli
scully
I want to write about what hurts because I think it will
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on
A page then they will be easier to digest.
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands. Right now, I feel
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time,
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
I should write
About how we've said goodbye so
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues.
I should write
About how I lied and got away with it,
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame.
I should write
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.
I've never had anything to die for.
I should write about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to write about how
The love didn't save us.
I don't write about letting go as much as I write about
Holding on, and I want
That to change.
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it.
The next poem I write about you will be
About me. About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.
`

— The End —