A Poem for August [1]

Listen,
because I’m about to tell you
the truth
for the first time.

I’m about
to let them in on something
so private,
I’ve let myself be blind.

Because though I said I have,
though I said I’d tried,
(which I have tried)
I cannot let you go.

In this past week alone
I have thought of you
FaceTiming me more than I have in a long while.
I have not deleted your number off my phone.
I have not unfriended you on Facebook
(though you have been unfollowed)

I have reached out
I have texted
(I will not call because that is an invasion
—toward her. Calling
is sacred.
To be so is face-to-face
interaction, albeit even if it’s
on a phone.)

I am under the impression
that one day you will need me,
and I’m scared I won’t be accessible.
Your number will be on my screen
and I will have no idea who is texting.
You will come to me,
of all people,
and I fear
that I will not be able to make you better.

That I will have somehow
“failed you”
because though I will be there,
I will not,
cannot
make you better.

I’m scared I may not leave,
even after you start healing.

 

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