I feel like I’m dying,
you said, and I wanted to say
you’ve been dead for years.
But you seemed so sad then,
the deep-seeded kind
of sadness with no real root,
and it must be harrowing,
I thought, to be mocked by a life
that so little resembled anything
you’d designed, to shrink
into the shadow of a life
that had begun without you.
And so I did not mention
how the light in your eyes
had waned and withered
or how you would always be
longing because you had nothing
to long for. Instead, I said
you’re not alone,
and hoped it was enough.