In your black, beat-down civic,
you blasted The Wonder Years' song,
An Elegy For Baby Blue
and you told me that the song was about a stolen bike
and that you loved it more than words could describe.
And I turned to you,
and told you that I loved you
as much as you loved that song.
And you kissed me until I was positive
I couldn't wash the taste of you out of my mouth.

It's Wednesday, July 9th
and it's been 475 days since we last spoke.
I smoked a single one of your favorite Marlboros yesterday,
and buried the rest of the pack in my backyard,
in the place under where you put dandelions in my hair.
It's Wednesday, July 9th
and I miss you like I've missed you for the past 475 days.

I got drunk last weekend,
and went out with Laura to the mall,
to buy The Wonder Years' album.
I played the CD in my car on the way back
until I was positive the walls of my head were peeling
from the memories of you.
An Elegy For Baby Blue came on
and I could swear I felt your warm breath down my neck
and I spent the night lying in the backseat,
staring at the gradient sky.

I always loved sunsets
because they reminded me
that even endings could be beautiful.
You told me that you didn't love me anymore
under a sunset colored sky,
because you thought that our ending could be beautiful.
But you were wrong.
Our ending was rancid
and it left me with jagged
with emotion I no longer have the capacity to feel.

I always loved sunsets,
because they reminded me that endings can be beautiful.
But sunsets eventually bleed into nightfall
and that's all endings ever are,
dark and cold.

"It's all over now Baby Blue.
It's like the world stopped revolving in the absence of you."

I had a dream that you died last night.
I've told myself I was over you,
but I woke up crying.
You would always look at me so sadly
when I told you that I almost killed myself 8 times
and I never understood
why it shook you so much.

I always find myself
tracing my fingers over your spot on the bed,
hoping to feel your warmth once again.
You were a supernova,
and you always believed that burning out was
better than fading away.

We were no exception.

I dial your number sometimes,
hoping to hear your soft baritone voice
replace the harsh automated one.
"The number you have dialed is out of service."

I miss you,
and though the feeling is not mutual,
I still continue to write about it.
I love you,
and though the feeling is not mutual,
I still continue to be shaken by it.

I had a dream you died last night.
I told myself I was over you,
but I jumped after you in the dark.
"I love you."
*This is my way of burning out.

since last summer,
all of my good intentions
were stained with cheap wine
and cheaper company. there's nothing
i can do about that now, so i'll stay in bed
for the next three days with my mind wrapped
around  your  tiny  frame  because  you  told  me
it's the thought that counts. i hope you know i'm
bored with you (and with everything else, too)
i have a feeling i'm about to turn that around
i live for slamming doors, for exciting. i'm
finding a reason to fight, even if that
means     with     myself.

maybe at that time,
we were nothing
but lost stars.

Today, I went back to the place where you kissed me for the first time.
The lady at the counter remembered me as the girl
that would always smile softly at the tall boy,
and my arms wouldn't stop trembling
as I grabbed the ice cream from her aged hands.

I still feel you in my bones.

I remember the day I got the call.
Your mom's voice was incoherent through the static
and the violent sobs.
"He...he swerved into the median and his car flipped," your brother
never really liked me,
but in that moment he sounded almost sorry for me,
for all of us.

I saw your brother cry for the first time that night,
and between the ugly hiccups,
he said, "Hell, he'd die laughing if he saw me like this."
and I said, "That death would've been more fitting."
Please come back now.

I remember laying in bed for days,
replaying the conversations,
the memories,
the very essence of you.

I miss you like the moon misses the sun.

Your best friend stood next to me at the memorial service.
"Do you believe in God?" He asked me this as your brother said a few words that your Dad wrote for him.

"Do you believe in God?" You asked me this on a crisp February evening,
much different from the freezing November morning they lowered you
6 feet into the ground.
I smiled and leaned my face into your soft, brown hair,
"Yeah, I do. Because I believe he led me to you, dearest."

"No. I don't," I replied to your best friend and he glanced down
at the empty coffin,
"Me too," he whispered.

Something inside me cracked that day.

Your last words to me were: "You looked so beautiful in the moonlight.
I feel like I've fallen in love with you all over again. I'll see you soon, I promise"

I'm so scared that in our haste to heal, we'll forget too soon.
Because you my love,
were beautiful.
And beautiful things deserve to be remembered.

"I'll remember you.
I promise, I will."

My arms still shake when I drive by your neighborhood.
My eyes still water when I walk by your locker.
My knees still tremble when I stumble into our Chemistry class.
But I promise,
I'll remember you.
I'll remember you.

                                       -the Moon