stories only keep you immortal for so longsomewhere on the other sideof a town shaped likea midnight cliche,you are dying: it has been so many months since I last mouthed your name. I have been dead since August, darling,but on the sandbars of my memorywe are seventeen forever,drunk on sloppy kissesand spoken-word poetry,throwing around our dreamslike they're fistsand humming the theme song to Rocky,promising paper cranes for every landed punch and writing love letters to the bruises of tomorrow. we reached our meridianon a Tuesday,falling gently into ruinlike statues underwater,held together with nothingbut a silence heavy as a cannonball -and even the windstorms we weatheredwould leave us only shaken,not stirred.not us.we were far too comfortablein the bedrock,bonespressed upon each other,praying to turn into diamondsin the morning;we were fossils, you and me,the negatives in the film, the ghosts of u
The way we tend to beToday, I learnedthat grief is the highest form of surrender.I am still learning how to sleep.but I know the words to every Frank Turner song now,and I wear them on my shirtsleeveseverywhere I go.I know that recovery is a long time coming,but it can't hurt to hope for scar tissueon more than just skin.I suppose this is what getting better looks like -a quiet, fading ache.reading so many words aloud and wonderingif you are still amenableto being my friend.spelling out my own name andremembering how it feelsto just breathe.every art page I follow latelyhas been telling methat it's okay to be lonely.and maybe that works, too.but recovery has been a long time comingand I am still terrified of September.but perhaps there is hope stillfor the wayward hurricanes.perhaps we are all orchards,still learning how to bloom.and perhaps the sunlight has been so heavyif only to teach ushow to bear the weightof forgiveness.don't worry, darling -this is nothing so empty as
every star is an empty light housethey say saltwater cures anything:sweat,tears,or the sea.if you were here, you'd saywe were never sick, we were juststubborn.maybe all broken things can be made new again,put back together with a miracle -sweat,tears,or the sea.maybe all lost things come home,and all you need to do is hope.call out in semaphore.stand on the pier 'til they make anchor.come back to the empty lighthouse.name a star after themand make a wish.kneel on the wet sandand weep.maybe all it takes is an ocean song.maybe nobody has tried hard enough.sweat,tears,or the sea.