I've been trying to write all day because things are ending for me
and I've been trying to find a way to tell you about it.
But it's merely been a lot of empty conversation
between me and my mother as she unpacks grocery bags after grocery bags
of food I haven't eaten all day.
I've spoken to the vase of flowers across from me about you.
Stared at the yellow center just searching my broken mouth
for the absolute way to tell you how sorry I am
that I didn't love you in all the right ways I could have.
How I want to believe in now instead of then and how I want
you to be here and hold my hand as I try to make some sense
of why such bad things happen to such good people.
How I'm not going to see you everyday come the end of summer.
How a huge part of myself is over and how I always thought I'd never be
that upset until I looked over at you and realized
that soon enough you'll disappear and I'll be left here.
I'll be left here without you looking over at me.
And I've been trying to write about that.

Been trying to write about it all day when it's 40 degrees in May.
How impossible it is to feel even colder than that
when I'm wrapped in blankets sitting in my kitchen chair
with gray light for reading all the words I just haven't written yet
about anything that I feel or anything that I want to say to you.
I want to tell you that I love you and that I hope we wind up together.
That I don't know what to say a lot of the time, but you help me
get everything out
and maybe that's not tonight .

I've been trying to write about the nostalgia that chokes me after midnight.
How I'm so tired of being lonely.
I just haven't written a thing all day and it's killing me.
I don't know what to say a lot of the time, but you help me
get everything out
and maybe that's not tonight, and maybe
after all this time I don't really need you to be mine.
But a lot of things are ending for me and I've got
so much more that I need to say.