okay.
It's a Thursday
for me, anyway.
Wednesday must've been tough on you.
Tuesday too.
Because you did get to Thursday.
no.
I saw you last on Monday.
You were in class
in the swivel chair near me.
Even though I didn't tell you
and even though it doesn't matter now,
I always thought you were unconventionally
beautiful.
I guess the saddest people really do
smile the brightest.
Online,
after all the "R.I.P."
after all the "I'm so sorry",
I listened that song you wrote
just a few days before.
It was the one about being someone's friend,
about wiping away the blood,
picking up yourself,
and replacing those broken bits.
You should've listened to your own advice.
I'm not going to make you a martyr.
I'm not going to tell you
that I miss you.
I'd be lying to say I knew you,
but I'd be lying even more to say
that I don't care.
Because I do.
Truthfully.
I want to make your best friend cookies.
You put her through more
than most deserve.
Warm chocolate can't repair her.
Not at this point.
Seattle rain can't wash it away.
Not any more.
I wonder what we will do
with the empty chair you left.
No one wanted to look at it today.
I was worried that the substitute would call your name
ignorant of what was going on.
I'd probably be the one to stand up
and tell him
since everyone else was quiet
and raw.
It is Thursday.
for me, anyway.
I don't want to ask those things
that other students do
like how you did it
and why
and where
and when
and what we should have done differently
and if we could have helped.
no.
I just want to smile
like you did
and sing
like you did
and laugh with friends
like you did.
Life must've been ******* you,
and I'm sorry you only saw
one way out of it.