I promised pictures, I promised return.
I promised I'd come back after concern,
but I still have lessons to learn.
He couldn't have came. We knew after all
that tears were solid once sliding down
a waterfall. And I recall
several spreading like lakes that day.
I can't get away from that day.
I'd like to get away from that day.
I more so wish that you would have stayed.
They say one stays with memory
but every one seems such treachery
and we don't even speak of it.
It hurts, you know. I don't know
if you knew it would be that way
or if you knew anything about that day
but it hurts us that are stuck living
as if we were all still fully alive.
And I know I have absolutely
no right to tell you otherwise.
To say you were wrong
or to judge. Or condemn. Or even speak.
I barely knew you. I think that's it.
That's why it gets to me,
because I should have. Known, I mean.
Everyone else I know, knew.
Everyone else had seen you,
but you remained, and always shall,
be only the boy marching ahead,
on the trumpet, at the table,
or drawing clocks in Algebra class.
That's all. No rhymes. No fancy farewells.
No memoirs or sonnets or fond memories,
because I never give anyone
I just wanted to say Happy Birthday.
You would have been nineteen.
And this doesn't seem fair.