You were like an open book,
your life was a series of mixed messages,
Draped in the sheer silk of tragedy.
I don’t remember you, all of you,
whether that’s my fault or circumstance,
But I do remember moments,
Specifics, things that were uniquely yours.
I remember the roses,
I don’t know if I’ll ever forget.
They smelled like a fresh reminder
I didn’t give you enough credit.
It was not the roses, it was the detail.
The white door probably squealed when you opened it,
Mystery and illusiveness gone in an instant.
I never asked you how that all went,
Or when you actually did it.
My mind casts out nets when wondering
And from time to time,
It’ll catch you in its net and you will be brought to the surface.
I’ll remember you hated basketball,
But we’re always pointed in that direction.
I’ll remember your brother, your mom.
I never even asked you their names.
But I know them
And their story, your story,
Is now apart of my minds ocean.
And the way the end happened,
Your aunt called me…
And never called me back.
Why? What exactly did she say?
I can’t recall. It was all so… real.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it for a while.
