We faded like fragments
White bed sheet tales now
We used to smoke like trains

I think I can, I think I can.

Ashed in each others hearts once or twice
But I didn't mind
With the sunlight on your face

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

I crept across the sheets
Looking at you hungrily
Your eyes danced down my back

The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout

We collided without a sound
I watched your lips part
And muffled murmurs were all that escaped

Hush little baby, don't say a word.

But those tales are only tales
And these white sheets are empty now
I don't know why you left me

How I wonder where you are.

But I mourn for you like a dying lover
And while I do,
I long for another, to take your place

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack. All dressed in black, black, black.

Yet no one aside from you,
Has taken the time to look inside
So, slowly, I find myself emptying

Ashes to ashes, we all fall down.

And so I wait. And I remember.

it isn't beautiful
not in the same way that you were
with your earth toned sighs
and your heart-wrenching lullabies
not like your summertime sweaters
or the way you waited for dreaming
it isn't beautiful
in the way you wore your sadness
cloaked over your sunken shoulders
oh so lovely
but it is new
and bright
and feels so very alive
it is beautiful like
I may never see your lips shake
and dreaming can wait
because I'm no longer
so heavily pained by day
it is beautiful like
escaping laughter
because happiness
holds no shame

It was supposed to be fun.

New school, new supplies,
Thin, neon highlighters glowing inside
Vera Bradley backpacks.

Skinny folders assigned to
Pointless subjects,
Which would be fattened
With pointless homework
By the end of the day.

It was supposed to be fun,
And for a little while, I forgot.

I forgot until History.

The new teacher hadn't lived here
Longer than a week,
Which was why he was
Excited
About teaching.

He had on a brand new tie
From Banana Republic
Which was obviously tied
By his wide eyed fiance.

His classroom was bare, as he explained,
"Don't worry,
I ordered posters yesterday."

The teacher wasn't the problem.

The problem was,
Between Richardson
And Roberts,
He still existed.

At least in the school system he did.

"Ashley Paulette?"
"-Here."
"Abby Richardson?"
"-Here."
"Bennett Rill?"

And my life shattered all over again.

The silence felt
Deafening.

Remembering how he wouldn't be there.
Not ever.

"Bennett Rill?"

The teacher was confused, looking around the room
For someone
Who was buried six feet under.
Someone who the teacher might've thought
Was sick, or vacationing.

It was supposed to be fun.
But then I remembered

He touches
My hair
All the time,
Plays with the
Edges and
Fragments,
And sometimes reminds me that
"I can braid,
You know."
Sometimes he does.

Sometimes he mimics me
In History class
From across the room,
And he laughs at all my jokes,
Even when they aren't funny,
Just
Stupid.

And occasionally,
When I'm sitting in my little niche
Between his desk
And Ellie's,
Right on the cold tile,
He'll attach his forehead to mine
And just look at me.
Sometimes he'll whisper,
"Nose,"
And point to it,
And I just giggle
And break the stare.

I don't even think he feels it,
The wishing to always be near him,
To have his fingers in my hair
All the time,
And for his laugh to be
My soundtrack.

I don't think
That when he stares into my eyes
He wants to kiss me
As bad
As I want
To kiss
Him.

Those sleepless nights,
Those petty fights,
The look in your eyes
When I held you tight.
How our hands fit so well
When they clasped together
I think of your voice,
But I just don't remember.

I think of your face,
I can see it so clear.
I think of the three words
I once held so near.
I remember your scent,
How your touch was so tender.
But the feelings I felt,
I just don't remember.

C. Alexander Blum