And we watch them grow, we watch them go,
we watch their colors fade,
their outlines--their shades--all go to gray,
and then we watch them die.
I never said goodbye.
Love is watching someone die.
And I sat on my deck, I was in a chair. And I cried.
I cried so loud.
I thank the Lord that my friend was with me.
We were sitting in my bedroom, on my floor.
I was on Facebook, and then I saw it.
I told her what happened.
She said, "That's too bad."
I have a large gap in my memory.
I stayed the night with him.
I know it hurt--he thought for a second
that maybe I was someone else.
I know it helped--afterwards,
he knew he still had me.
I went to my 8:00 class the next morning.
College Algebra. I couldn't concentrate,
but I tried to grasp normalcy.
I skipped classes. I sat in the library.
I know he would have wanted me there.
I sat in the library. In a group I didn't know.
And then one asked me,
"Heaven or hell?"
You might have been asking me
what kind of meat I prefer.
As if it were in my hands.
As if I knew the voice of God
and the heart of another.
As if it were that simple.
It rained, of course.
You didn't make your cue
and I didn't make it to my car.
I broke down somewhere on the sidewalk.
Then I had dreams.
For six months, I dreamt
of asking you to come to church
I don't remember your hair anymore.
And to be honest, I don't know how
beginnings and endings are definite.
Everything has blurred ever since.