to think there’s a reality
in which we never parted,
to think of our naivety
saying we’d keep in contact,

it hurts to think of what might be
if i’d only stopped to ask
if you’d care, years later, about me;
but enough dwelling on the past.

My hands still remember the quiet aching of these wounds — too deep and wide for stitches and shaky hands. And so, I never learned to unpack my grief. It still is in a suitcase with December dusks and dreary summers — shut in secret library walls. I never learned to unpack my grief because I'm terrified that when I do, it'll be way too messy to place it back where it belongs.


Some things, we never tell ourselves out loud.

My child

As you lay there fast asleep,
Oh my heart just skips a beat

As I watch your chest rise and fall,
Oh my heart just skips a beat

I listen to the sound of your breath,
Place my hand upon your chest and feel your heart beating.
Oh my heart just skips a beat.

For as you lay there my child, all innocent and sweet.
It will amaze me that you are mine to keep.