Your name still rests in the bottom of my conversations,
thousands of texts ecapsulated in beautifully painful bows.
And for some reason, on the difficult days like today, when seeing your name is the last thing I need,
I scroll through the ending.
Our ending.
"I love you." "I miss you." Wash.
"Whatever." "I'm not dealing with this tonight." Rinse.
Repeat.
I never really understood how easy it was to say so much, but still say nothing at all.
You are the punishment that never seems to end.
Our pictures still rest, dusting, in my photo box.
Your letters rot slowly in my subconscious and my dresser drawer.
Your face still appears nightly, haunting my nightmares.
You are the dates I never got to have,
the memories I never got to make,
the boy I still cry over when life leaves me weak.
I wonder if you saw today's date, and for a second, you missed me. Because I only seem to miss the wash, rinse, repeat when I'm breathing.
Happy anniversary to the anniversary you never gave us the chance to have.