This was never meant to hurt you.
It was a simple miscommunication,
a stumble of words.
"Words" can be so easily misspelled to say "swords,"
and swords can impale.
I suppose words can, too.

57 minutes.
It’ll be your birthday
in fifty-seven minutes.
I’m sitting in my bed, in the pitch black,
remembering your laugh that is still
so fresh in my brain.
If one could look inside my head,
they, too, would be in awe that you
have already been gone
over three months.

19 years.
You were almost
Nineteen years old.
Things still feel surreal,
as though you’re
to come home momentarily,
laughing alongside us
at how much we worried.
No.
I know you can’t,
no matter how much I wish it were so.

104 days.
I heard you had died
One hundred four days ago.
I was in the girls’ bathroom at school,
and was told you had passed.
I hit the floor so hard,
I bruised my knees.
I was hysterical,
yet pulled myself together
and went to class.
My teacher kicked me out of her room that day,
she said I was causing a distraction
because I was crying so hard.
I left without a word.
She found out the next hour.
She cried, too.

0.
Zero minutes, zero hours, zero days,
months, years, decades,
zero is your magic number;
you are never coming back.
I think about you every day.
I wonder how it got this way.
I wonder what the universe thought
that made it decide
it was time for you to go.
I try not to dwell,
but still see your face.
Whether I’m in Walmart,
the mall,
or even in school,
I still see your face.
Zero percent of the time, it’s you.

February 16th, 2013.
"Hopefully, this time I can sleep."

When your hands leave mine in the late hours of the night,
I feel your touch, the scar on your palm, imprinting itself to mine,
My hands shake with the lust to hold yours.
When you leave my side,
My bundle of blankets,
The cold that fills your place
Never seemed so chilling until now.
When you stand ten feet from me,
Grinning like a fool,
I do not realize
That I am returning this gesture,
With rosy cheeks and a thudding heart
Thudding so hard I begin to wonder
If I've a medical issue I need to address with my doctor
Lovesick is a term I've only connected to heartbreak
But I feel my blood run smoother,
My breaths quicken,
My hands shake.
I do not know if it is your gaze sending chills down my spine,
Or your breath on my neck,
But all I can confirm is
You have an affect on me.
You're infecting me with a drug and my addiction is growing.
Need not worry, I've healthy addictions,
Despite the contradictions,
And you, my dear, are one.

December air is rather thin, chilling.
Usually, as am I around this time of year.
Somehow between endless car rides or sitting in parking lots,
something about you keeps me warm.
A promise never really meant as much
as it did when it slipped over your lips,
a hug never made me feel so protected.
You have pulled me out of this snow.
Not only this, but you have given me a hiding place.
A haven.
The thick scent of cigarettes fills the gaps
between our words,
alongside a form of comfort and communication
I never thought I'd have again.
It drifts through the air like a summer breeze,
making itself known in presence.
Making itself welcome.
For once in my life, I am not afraid of the snow.
For once in my life, I do not dread the kiss of frost
which greets me when I walk through the door.
For once in my life, I'm safe.
I have fears that you will not stay.
I don't want you to push me away.
I want to give you a reason to get up come morn,
aside from repetitive routines of
work,
eat,
sleep,
I do not want to be a routine.

I wanted to write a poem
And name it
"Baby Carrots"

I was going to write about
how your favorite band
was Pink Floyd,
and how I see your face
in the surface of the swimming pool
behind your house.

I was going to write about
the bus seats
with burn marks
and scratches in the vinyl
that you left in the backs.

I was going to write about
your faded red hair and
how everyone laughed,
including you.

I was going to write about
your funeral.

I was going to write about
your bedroom door
and how when I look at it
I think,
that for maybe a second,
you're sitting in there,
fixing a computer.

I was going to write about
the empty space
in the room
when everyone's together
aside from you.

I decided to let you rest.
You need your sleep.
I hope some day,
if there is some world after all of this,
I see you again.

Just in case I don't,

I wanted to write a poem.