has no concept of time; he stole that with whispered sweet nothings that went something like, " forever, baby, forever. i promise."

dwells on the past, holds grudges over spilled milk, firmly believes people don't change, googles "how to move on,"

thinks too highly and too low of herself, smiles at her own jokes in public, avoids eye contact, lives entirely in her own mind.

reads too much poetry, falls in love too often, cares too little, leaves too fast, talks too quietly, cries too loud.

favorite music is the thundering crescendo of her own heart breaking because at this point, it sounds like home.

tries to play hard to get but only succeeds in distancing herself so much he loses interest, cries a lot everyday after

washes her hope down the drown, doesn't bother checking her voicemail, sleeps in the day he leaves to minimize casualties

I KEEP SAYING
I JUST NEED TIME
JUST NEED TIME
NEED TIME
TIME TIME TIME
BUT IT SCARES ME TO WONDER
HOW MANY
DAYS
WEEKS
MONTHS
YEARS
WILL IT TAKE TO
FEEL
WHOLE
AGAIN

September 6th, 1994
The leaves have started dying
Early this year and so has
My hope for spring.
Wilted flower petals blanket
The ground and I think I can
Relate to the way they've been
Hiding the trees' secrets for
Far too long.

October 31st, 1994
When I was little, Halloween
Was always my favorite holiday
Because I could be anyone I wanted.
I haven't decided if it's
Poignant or powerful that
I never grew out of not
Wanting to be myself.

November 24th, 1994
What is the point of thanksgiving
With a godforsaken family,
And a death wish on the side?
I love him, I love his eyes
And his smile,
I love the way he whispers
My name and the smile
Lines that fill his cheeks.
But being thankful for a boy
That has broken me in half,
Is as ridiculous as a
Thanksgiving with no thanks.

December 14th, 1994
I feel as invisible as ever;
I talk but no one hears me.
He hasn't stopped crying
For the past 48 hours,
"Please stop crying.
Please stop crying.
Please stop crying."
He doesn't reply anymore.

January 1st 1995
The clock just hit midnight.
I could feel the room fill with
Reminiscent screams of
"Happy New Year" and "I love you"s
Between laughs. They never
Go past arms lengths and
The glasses of champagne seem
To separate us by miles.
I slipped out of the room in
Failed attempts to calm my mind.
Three hours later I heard a familiar
Crying from the bathroom floor.
I've never seen him
Shake so hard before or seen
Such a strong refusal to acknowledge
My hand reaching to comfort.

March 26th, 1995
You know that double sided
Glass they use in police stations?
(Speaking of which, I had an
Astonishingly real dream a
While back that you were
Being questioned in a
Police station about me;
You didn't listen when I tried
To tell you about it.
Your ruby lips shook and
The tear that landed
On the folder in front of you
Reminded me of that rainy day
In august when you said
You loved me.) Anyways...

April 12th, 1995
I sometimes hear you
Screaming my name
In your sleep, but
Not in the way you used to.
How do I keep ending up here?
You sometimes wake up and
Grasp for things that are not there,
And it is as if you wake up
And look for me.
Am I a ghost, or
Do you not hear me anymore?

July 23rd, 1995
You got up early and
Went to church today.
You swore to me you'd never
Step foot in that building again,
So I don't understand why
You keep going.
I often wonder who
You're trying to reach and why.
Your mother keeps referencing
Missing me over lunch and
I don't know why everyone
Seems so stuck on who
I used to be to them when
I was with them.
I know my mind has traveled far,
But I don't feel gone.

August 1st, 1995
You say my name so much--
Why, why do you do that?
You utter it softly, indirect,
Like a reminder.
But you don't look at me anymore
And I'm having trouble
Remembering if your eyes
Were blue, like the tumultuous
Sea when we went to the beach
That day in late October,
Or the stained glass in the church
That's become your hideout.
I'm praying to your God
That you look at me soon,
Because I'm losing the oxygen
In my lungs and your eyes
Are like a breath of fresh air.
Darling, I'm afraid I'm not all here.

September 27th, 1995
I am petrified because
You are not getting better.
I heard your father kicked
You out again and
That you were found four days
Later in the church basement
(Pronounced dead at
6:14 AM, September 24th,
If I remember correctly).
You touch me now, and
I mean really touch me.
You don't cry much anymore,
Maybe when you
Miss your mother or your sister,
But you do not wake up screaming
My name or yelling things at walls.
You may not be getting better,
But a part of you is put to rest and
You have found hospitality
Next to my grave.

November 23rd, 1995*
You told me today that the reason
Why you still go to the church
Is because you first kissed
Me in that church basement.
You sometimes remind
Me that I would
Have been better off not
Killing myself at all,
And maybe my brother would
Have grown up a bit
Stronger and more naive.
I learned today that,
On our second Thanksgiving together,
I had something to be thankful for;
You.

i can handle the separation,
i can wade through the silence,
and i can swallow the insomnia.
but don't you dare say you never cared.
that, i cannot endure.

yeah, i guess, i just miss you a lot, i guess.

i miss
i just
there's so much
you have so many little things

i miss how you used to look me in the eye before you stopped because you realized all the pain behind them was your doing.

i miss every memory and moment that we never were.

i miss the you that was exclusively mine.

i miss the way we never fail to make each other laugh.

i miss your stupid sneakers covered in stupid plaster and spackle.

i miss your eyelashes. they're delicate.

i miss the way you say my name; softly and direct but like it means so much, like it's this important, fragile thing.

i miss the possibility of us because we held such promise.

i miss your eyes, they're so beautiful.

i miss the scar on your cheek. (i want to kiss it forever)

i miss the way putting your hands in your pockets is a genuine habit.

i miss that certain face you make when something is really funny.
i miss the way i've only ever seen you laugh like that when you're with me.

i miss saying your name. out loud, that is, in public. i say it alone every night as if i'm rehearsing its one syllable.

i miss the pencil you wear behind your ear. who even does that? (you)

i miss how warm you are.

i miss your hands because they're a little bigger than mine and ours fit nicely together and yours are slightly calloused.

i miss the way you say so much without a single word and just an innocent, doe-eyed look.

i miss the way you subtly hold my hand, as if i'm not supposed to feel your fingertips setting my palm on fire.

i miss your funny walk, which i'm sorry for always making fun of because it's perfect, actually. it's more of a lope and you're perfect.

i miss the way your eyes soften and dilate quietly when you see me.

i miss your whiny voice, which is also very husky. i just realized.