I loved everything about you,
Even the bad things.
I spent every day of September
Sending kisses to the parts of you that needed it most
And folding up your smiles
Like dog-eared pages on a book that made my heartbeat sound a little quieter.

I cried for three days
When I thought you were dead, and three days
When you realized I wasn't.
I suppose you were tired of filling in my gaps;
When I returned you had already forgotten my name
Like the title of a song with no words;
On the tip of your tongue but it could be any of the two hundred and seventy-six.

I fell asleep to the humming
Of your cranial chords
Knotting and un-knotting to the point of nausea.
I would have held your hand all night
But, as young boys often do,
You needed to be your own (tragic) hero.

I remember the last time I felt alive,
Standing in your kitchen memorizing spoons for a day I wouldn't be invited to dinner.