Sleepily, I look at the time
6:45 in the morning
I had been asleep for thirty minutes straight
Before the alarm went off
It was the longest nap
I had taken in the past week,
The calmest sleep I’d been in.

There are so many things
I need to accomplish today
But all I want to do is hit the snooze button
And erase it all with sleep.
I wish I could erase it all with sleep.

Instead, I get up and look at the white dress
Hanging by my closet door
I try to wipe the look of grief
Off my face
But I know I couldn’t anymore

In two hours, my life would be over
I guess I’d been delaying this
But no one can really prepare
A burial two weeks
after a wedding

The Line

Even before you say no,
I will have already buried our love story
Six feet underground.

Before you say you’re not ready,
I will have already memorized my eulogy for memories
That only existed in my head.
And I will miss them.

When you start to think this is not worth it,
I will have already burned all of your letters,
Your promises turned into ashes.

And when you finally say “this is it,”
I will have already drawn the line where you and I ended.
And crossed it.

The Meta Poem

I think, for once, I will not write about you.
I think I want to be selfish and keep you all for myself.
The world doesn’t deserve you yet.

The pages of my notebook will not know
About your laughter or the color of your eyes.
My pen could only guess how your hands touch mine.

And when you sit down and make that face when you think,
I won’t write about it. I’ll just stare at you and smile.
I won’t complicate this.

I will not write your name or
How it sounds like the skip in my heartbeat.
No one needs to hear about it. Only you need to know this.

I think, for once, I want to live
In the moments that normally just seep through our lives.
Like the deep breath you take before a kiss.

No one pays attention to moments leading up to a kiss.
But I do, I do. But I will not write about it.
And I will not write about you.

Be quiet, universe

I spent roughly 20 minutes tonight just staring at my wall, while Greek Tragedy played in the background for the 13th time. Now it’s two in the morning and I have errands to do in the morning plus an interview. I should be sleeping right now. I should be dreaming of having forgotten all the words while performing in front of people—one of my recurring nightmares.

But I’m here trying to sort through all the feelings I’ve been trying to process for the past week, both the good and the sad. But it’s like looking at all your favourite books and deciding which one to open and read; it’s both dangerous and exciting, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to dive into a sea of emotions once I spend time to feel them.

I will say this, though. Sometimes, when you think you’ve finally moved on from something and thought that you were able to rise above a bad situation like a trooper, years later you will realize that it’s that belief that has partly fucked you up for other people in the first place. I’m still trying to be a good friend and I sincerely love people, but I always come off either emotionally distant or just plain cold.

Because the truth is I don’t really say things I’m supposed to. I could write you a poem about how you feel. I could analyse the shit out of a conversation you thought didn’t mean anything. I could tell what you’re thinking, just going by your body language or even carefully picked euphemisms. But we have our own emotional quick sands we try to avoid. One word, one reminder, one name—and we will sink into whatever version of emotional hell we have.

And I guess you will forever be one of mine.