mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary

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I miss you and I'm sorry. I fucking miss you and I hallucinate you late at night and I swear I felt your hand on my head once and it didn't scare me, you don't scare me now. I would give anything but it has faded to a dull ache now and I don't want to forget, I don't want to stop hurting because I want to remember.
Three-hundred and fifty-eight days ago
your black eyes strung with silver spiderwebs,
your brown hands stopped reaching
and my prayers and promises came too late.
Crouched on a plywood platform made for grief and grief alone
I finally understood God in that moment when I delivered every late birthday gift,
three fading sunflowers
a silver necklace that fell into the cavern of your cupped hands
and a song you would have hated in life
whispered into your cold porcelain ear.
Your hairbrush still sat on the sink then,
long brown hair curling onto the counter
your sweater still smelling like perfume and cigarette smoke
the smallest parts of your life to be doled out to sobbing relatives
while our Mothers sifted through 27 years of and snapshots
searching for a message in your face and were left raw and bewildered.
For six months we woke up in the mornings with sighs of relief,
because of the sleep-clouded certainty that it was still mid-October
and that a phone number long ago disconnected would ring you awake
and we would say,
"I had the most awful dream."

9:49 a.m. - 2006-10-18

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