he would be embarrassed to know
how long i’ve spent thinking
about what we could’ve been
if fear hadn’t been my loudest voice.

we had a rhythm, a quiet pattern:
i came home from school,
he went to practice,
i carved silence into my skin
and pushed my body to forget him.
when he got back,
we practiced our instruments separately,
but he was always the reason
i tried so hard to be better.

then we’d talk—god, we’d talk.
he knew me,
better than anyone ever has,
better than anyone ever will.
sometimes i wonder if he still could.