marie

the air inside my lungs
feels haunted.
scared to quiver out your name 
in fear that i’ll conjure your soul
in its most vulnerable state,
or relive the most cherished memory 
of you and i
before the world took your breath away.

i’m left with a grieving heart
that aches more when the leaves fall
and i hear your laugh in the wind
as my mother glances at the sky
and curses your name,
all while the salt dripping down her cheeks 
meets the earth where you lay.

the clock has ticked on despite your absence
but there are some days that i forget 
that i’m not sixteen anymore,
sitting at the kitchen table
holding my mother
as we stare at the phone
that changed her life completely.

the last message i sent
is still sitting in my phone
in denial that you’ll somehow wake
from the slumber that you put yourself in

and say hello.
i’ll catch myself wondering about you 
on days that i feel my best,
and hoping i could tell you 
all that i’ve done since then.

i hope you found the peace 
you were searching for.
all i ask
is that you save some for me.
whether that be in the sky,
or the wind,
or the falling leaves
i’ll meet you there, someday,
with my arms unfolding
and a lived life to share.