we met.
you would hold my hand
during the thunder and lightning
and tell me not to be afraid.
our story had begun.
when you were 11 and I was 9
we finished each others
sentences.
when you were 12 and I was 10
I watched my best friend
shine on stage
as you watched me start to care.
when you were 13 and I was 11
we were locked in a closet
it seemed funny at the time.
you pointed out if we were older,
we would be taking advantage of our “private time.”
the only response I had to that look in your eyes
was “weird.”
when you were 14 and I was 12
you took things one step further
and then told me it was a
mistake.
and I cried for the first time
because of you
when you were 15 and I was 13
the miles between us grew.
I didn’t see you, not once.
we parted ways.
when you were 16 and I was 14
your love of me was exceeded
by alcohol. Then pot.
then you started your
perilous flirtation
with heroin.
on May 19, 1999
I felt a sharp pain in my chest
I cried.
I didn’t want to acknowledge it.
but I knew I was right
in 7 years I had never been wrong
I couldn’t accept the truth
I cried for the second time
because of you.
when you were 17 and I was 15
you died
and our story ended.
