I know you hate when my writings are

sad I didn’t mean it when I said “I can’t

be without you” I meant “how could you

do this to me and now you’re not here” I want

to hate you but instead I call you when I need

something about ******* makes me feel

horrible every time it’s the only time

you give me attention now that you’re

gone I sit in my room listening to versions

of “Tom’s Diner” and this feels like my version

of “Teenage Fever” I’ve been working on a

poem about you it’s seventeen pages long

I won’t show anyone when it’s finished

because I’m embarrassed I’ve spent time

obsessing over the beaches we should’ve swam

at and the restaurants I could’ve introduced you

to and the dogs we would’ve named Steve and Rex

you’re going to read this and the only thing you’re

going to comment on is the fact that you never wanted

to name the dogs Steve and Rex and I won’t even be

mad because what else do I expect and I did this to

myself and what you don’t see is every reason why I love you