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I've spent the better part of the last month trying to reconstruct our last night -- the last time that the five of us were together. I want to box up the sound of our laughter so loud that it was probably keeping my parents awake. I want to tie it up with a bow and keep it in my nightstand for when the nights get longer and the songs get slower and I can't remember how much taller you are than me anymore. Three years ago, I called my brother while the four of you were together. The phone was passed from ear to ear until it got to you. Without missing a beat, you hung up on me... and didn't answer when I called back. I remember thinking that I didn't know it was possible for somebody to make you mad in a good way.
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Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
cliche death poem #1.
I've spent the better part of the last month trying to reconstruct our last night -- the last time that the five of us were together. I want to box up the sound of our laughter so loud that it was probably keeping my parents awake. I want to tie it up with a bow and keep it in my nightstand for when the nights get longer and the songs get slower and I can't remember how much taller you are than me anymore. Three years ago, I called my brother while the four of you were together. The phone was passed from ear to ear until it got to you. Without missing a beat, you hung up on me... and didn't answer when I called back. I remember thinking that I didn't know it was possible for somebody to make you mad in a good way.
ohkaitlyn
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Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
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