at the crime scene of my anger,
there is a chalk outline
of our bodies lying side by side.
they copied that blank expression on your face.
I don't remember fitting in those frames.
forgiveness can wash away the evidence,
but it will still rub salt in our wounds.

I'll try to tell you I'm happy for you.
I'll try not to mention that I woke up on fire
and mistook it for the sun coming back.
I'll try not to mention that the light
was at the beginning of this tunnel.
I'll try not to mention the calendar I kept
where every yesterday was crossed off,
and I'll try not to mention how I always knew
we wouldn't make it to today.

there is an unmarked box now,
and every day that follows is empty,
but it wasn't the end
of the world—
just mine.