would it be easier for you
not to see me at all
would you like to forget me
even if not for the sake of moving on
just to make it easier
is it hard to have known me, loved me
and for everything to be different now?
yes

I would rather be your friend, I think
Than nothing at all
but perhaps ceasing to exist
to one another is better

I much prefer the sadness.
though overwhelming, choking
it is rooted in love, in remembering
in the loss of something real, tangible, beautiful.
The anger is much worse, wicked
a fabricator of the truth:
that it didn't matter to you
and maybe never did.
I'll take salt water filling my lungs
burning, flailing, gasping for air
if it meant never forgetting you

I am trying to stop looking for you
signs or silence, there's nothing to decipher
no run-ins or coincidence
I don't even know if it'd satisfy
a glimpse of a life
that still holds out hope
for me, for us
because for all I know
that doesn't exist anymore

all I know how to do is love
my bones ache to care
and I'm not sorry for trying
even if you didn't deserve it
I deserve the chance

I can't help but look at you that way
"what?" you'll ask, puzzled, teasing
"you're going to ruin my life," I say
and your brow furrows, but you smile
"I think you make life pretty great,
and who says that has to end?"
and my lips creep into a smile
because I'm not afraid, despite it all
even knowing how far the drop would be

I can't quite place my rage
if you can even call it that
angry at your optimism in us,
in what you were capable of
angry with myself for letting you in
angry that I tried, again
only for it to end the same way