We will never be of the same age again

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I always felt like

I was going to die 

young;

yet, as years go by,

I'm slowly losing this bet

I've made against myself. 

So here I am 

living –

still doing things for the first time

like eating sushi,

meeting people,

new places

&

every time

I live something for the first time

I think of you

and how your list

of first things

is never going to grow out

to be more than it was

last November.

The first bite of cake I had

after you died 

was the worst.

Enjoying

the small things

while going on living

felt unfair

to you,

but month after month

I learned to let go

of the guilt.

I've folded the memory of you

and hid it in my heart –

I often take it out

and leave it in the sun

to make sure the dust

won't settle on it.

You're still here,

even though you're not.

You told me

you liked my poems,

I'm sorry this had to be

the one written about you.

Written today while waiting in a hallway. It took me months to finally be able to write these feelings down. I'm sorry.