You asked me what I would do
if I woke up tomorrow but you didn't.
I can picture it all,
sitting in chemistry, barely acknowledging
the announcements on the intercom until
I hear your name.
I can tell by the tone of the assistant principal's voice,
he doesn't need to say it for me to start breaking down.
I look over at my classmates,
and they stare at me in disbelief;
they all know our history,
they know that we were lovers
until I told you
to leave me alone,
to let me get better.
I run.
I run through the door
and down the hall
and to the parking lot
where the doors to my brother's truck are locked
so I curl up in the back.
I didn't realize I was crying until now.
I didn't realize how much I missed you until now.
I curse at the misleadingly blue sky,
screaming my apologies,
hoping you hear me,
wishing you had known I wanted you back.
The guilt is crushing my chest
and I remember the feeling of your heartbeat
and I remember how warm your hands were
and I know that I will never feel that again
and I am
so,
so
sorry.
I tell you I would cry.