I'm listening to the radio my dad turned on, his mom is dying.
I understand his sadness and need for comfort, I lay on the couch and he sits on the kitchen stool.
Neither of us talk, I have a documentary playing about a girl who was kidnapped.
A commercial plays on the radio and my dad takes a bite of toast.
I intended to write about you. I wrote about you earlier, I wrote how if you died I'd die.
We've already decided we'll die together

You said I took your heart, threw it to the curb and stomped on it

I don't know what to tell you.
Besides the most platonic I love you I can muster.

Because I do love you and nothing has ever been as important to me.
I guess this isn't about dying grandmothers or the sound of crunching toast coming from a sad mans mouth.
I guess this is about you, but then again, what isn't?