And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.

The hot sun hits your skin and a light breeze kisses you, too. The salty water  tickles your toes and the sand dances between your fingers.  For a moment after you close your heavy eyes you feel alright. That's why I love summer. For a moment everything loves being near you and you are blissfully aware of it all without a care in the world.  Simply happy.

These memories taste bitter like ash,
They burn my throat like the smoke we breathed in on your back porch last Friday.
The trees swept out over the brilliant mountain and I realized that remembering is a stupid decision,
Memory burns my throat and it doesn’t feel good to remember.

It doesn't feel good to remember my father's disappointment,
Or my mother’s sorrow that her boy didn't grow up to be enough of a man for her liking.
It doesn’t feel good to remember crying quietly on a late Saturday morning,  
Or wanting to take my own life on a warm Sunday night.

Summer springs into my life just as a sore throat surprises you one morning
And you know you are getting sick,
The heat of the day and the loneliness of the night blur together
And I hold no joy in these months and their lazy solitude.
Yesterday I sat in the blinding sun with you by my side and together we ended an era,
But I still don’t know if I will finally be ok
And all I have is this sickening moment because I can’t remember but I am too afraid to look ahead.

Please promise me you wont forget,
But it may **** me to remember,
I hope one day I will be able to recall and feel at peace,
I don't want to forget this.

I am panicking.

I am patching up and desperately traveling back to a distant recollection of a foggy memory. I am feverishly writing everything. Time is passing “us” by so quickly. I talk to the walls and pretend it’s you. I listen to old songs and think of things you used to. I stare at your things and will them to move.

There is such a stillness around me.

An awareness that most things we occupy our space with are lifeless. I often feel hollow. There is one thing that I drill into my head each morning that my feet hit the floor — you aren’t here anymore. I focus heavily on dates and times even though I realize time is leaving you behind.