you were always ailing. hurting. imperfect. needy.
i was always terrified, nervous, alternately avoiding or nursing.
i saw your last days. unrecognizable. but you still smelled the same. they laughed when i pointed that out. no recognition of the poignance.
it’s starting to fade. those exact sounds, smells, memories.
i think of you and all that i did and i could not save you. i always held your heart and your existence in my arms, happy to carry that burden for the first man to ever adore me.
she said i would come home from weekends at your house, tired, isolated, sad. they mocked you and i didn’t defend you like i should have. you didn’t have anyone to protect you. you were all alone. i was all alone. we were supposed to never let each other go. but eventually you let me go, you held onto them, you let me go. you let me go.
you are dead and some moments i have to remember to stay alive.
you keep dying over and over. it might as well have been yesterday. i need arms to curl up in, to keep me safe, to stroke my hair and tell me i never have to feel this way ever, ever again.