It hurt me to see you. You,
with your unbelievably broken life and
irreparably broken heart. Back then, it hurt me to
watch you support your little sister
with vibrant words and
warm hugs even as the ice in
your eyes cracked and froze
endlessly on repeat, swelling with a tide of
emotions that never broke.
It hurt to know that you would never
accept anything I offered you because of your
stubborn, beautiful pride.
It was so painful to watch your life,
so fast-paced and so dark and so emotional,
speeding its way into an abyss that I could not see.
It hurt me that I loved you.
It hurts me that I still love you.
It hurts me that you never had the
opportunities that others had, and that you
lived the way you did not because you had chosen to
do so, but because your weary heart wore a sign
that said you must suffer.
It is sad to think that someday, when I no longer
have your momentary smiles to hold onto,
I will think back to this moment and wonder
if there was anything more I could've done to save you.
It hurts that no matter how many questions I ask,
they will never be answered, because there
is no one here who understands that we can only
meet again when it is spring . . .
but it is winter now.
And it will be winter
*forever.